Hunted
by Mickis
Summary: Trapped in the sewers, hunted by enemies they never even imagined they had, one brother desperately fights to keep the other one going.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Don't own TMNT. Never did and... (sniffle) probably never will. So there.

**A/N:** _With the way I've been posting lately, it sure looks like my muse is back from her little vacation (which, BTW, I SO didn't grant her). This, however, is darker and a tad more disturbed than the other projects I've got going right now. It's not for the sensitive. So, that said, I hope you'll enjoy the read, and review before you leave. If all goes right, I should have a few minutes here and there to keep working on this one next week. So keep your fingers and toes crossed everyone. Until then, you'll just have to settle with the following chapter. Tah tah!_

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**HUNTED**

by

Mickis

**Genre:** Horror/Angst

**Language: **English

**Fan Fiction Rated: **T

**Summary: **_Trapped in the sewers, hunted by enemies they never even imagined they had, one brother desperately fights to keep the other one going.  
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** Chapter 1**

Splashing, panting, the never-ending taunting of our demise hungrily breathing us down our necks... The sewer tunnels were so dark, and, for some reason, they felt much narrower than they usually appeared. The musty air we had to inhale was almost making me claustrophobic, probably because I knew I couldn't go topside; I knew I had to keep taking hungry breaths of this thick, damp oxygen. Even the water felt colder than usual, biting into my feet with its freezing determination to slow me down.

But I knew we had to keep running.

I just wished I could've run for the both of us. I wished there had been enough time to stop and treat his injuries, if only temporarily, just enough to keep him going. God, everything was still so confusing, so painfully _surreal_. I couldn't quite grasp the last few minutes, as if they hadn't really happened in the first place. Maybe this was all a dream, maybe I was just about to reach the part where worst comes to worse and you abruptly wake up in the middle of your own sweat.

That's when he suddenly tripped, and my obsessive hold on his left wrist across my shoulder tightened substantially on pure reaction.

Dammit, we didn't have time for this.

"Get up!" I ordered frantically, holding his entire weight by that one arm. To help him... to _force_ him back on his feet, my right hand quickly reached around his shell and fumbled for his right shoulder, which, reactively, jerked away from my stressed touch, a hissing noise seeping forth between his gritted teeth.

I knew his wound must have hurt like hell, but unless we kept going he would earn another one just like it – only this time in his skull.

Looking down at him, his sapless form depending almost completely on me to hold him up, I traced my hand back to his shoulder, this time not caring whether or not it was welcomed. The warm, sticky feel of his blood against my palm made me want to gag, and its slippery touch forced me to clutch his muscle even tighter.

"Get _up_, Mikey!"

He turned his head upwards, and I somehow managed to make out his eyes in the unmerciful darkness we'd been swallowed by. He was panting in exhaustion, and his gaze seemed to hold something that held a scary resemblance to defeat. There were tears in his eyes, but they never fell as he spoke, his voice nearly as frail as the rest of his being.

"I don't think I can..."

"Don't," I firmly cut him off, trying to reach through to him with my urgent stare. "I don't wanna hear it. Now, c'mon, get up." I had never been this dominant before, this pushy, and I couldn't say I liked the person it was turning me into, but the price was just too high to pay, simply because I didn't want to order my little brother around like the others d...

Pushing back the sudden pang of guilt and pain that washed over me with their faces, I turned my attention back to the issue at hand.

Michelangelo swallowed once, as if forcing down the tears with his will, before finally nodding weakly in reply, his entire face twisting in torment as he pushed himself back up with his legs, rising to his full height beside me, my hold instinctively tightening around him, cherishing the feel of my brother next to me.

I then held his eyes for a short moment, silently thanking him for not giving up, for not giving in, before we once again picked up our pace and continued down the tunnel, tramping hysterically through the arctic stream. My feet kept sinking down the muck covered bottom as we ran, sewage mud oozing up between my toes, and Mikey just couldn't quite keep up with me, limping tiredly by my side, wounded. I obstinately fastened my hold around his wrist to the point where I half expected it to crack right in my very hand, and basically forced him to keep moving, to keep running, because it was our only chance.

They may have had us trapped down here, due to the city being alive with people, traffic and – most importantly – daylight, but at least it was on our domain. We knew these tunnels much better than they did. We had grown up in them, navigated through them for years. If only I could somehow shake them off our tail, trick them into a wrong turn, go down a tunnel they didn't know of, maybe then we'd actually have a chance.

What really bothered me, though, was that I still didn't get it. Who were they? Where did they come from? _How_ did they find us? Even though there sort of was a loose rumor about us passing from mouth to mouth amongst the teenage outlaws of the city, that still didn't explain how they found us. What I did, understand, though, was what they wanted.

They wanted us dead, and they wanted it on tape.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **_Hmm... took a while longer for me to update this than I'd expected. Sorry...? And, I know this is short, but I really think the next scene belong in chapter 3. Thanks for all the lovely reviews. As usual, my repsonses can be found a Stealthy Stories. (There's a link to use in my bio). Please keep them coming (the reviews, that is) and tell me what you think of it so far. Hope you guys at least got some of the answers you were looking for in this chapter._

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**Chapter 2**

_A shrill, beeping noise erupted in the lair, everyone's alarmed eyes instantly turning to me for answers. I knew exactly what the problem was, and I was already running inside my sub car to have a look at the computer._

_Clicking on the shortcut at the left corner on the desktop, I began to type out the password to get proper access to the system and find out which motion detector it was that had been set off, when suddenly the piercing noise stopped, leaving behind a silence that felt terribly unfamiliar in our home._

_"What's happening, Don?"_

_So focused on what I was doing, I hadn't noticed Leo standing next to me, worriedly leaning over my shoulder in search of an explanation. Not that it surprised me. Leo always worried; it was kind of his thing._

_"It's the security alarm," I briefly mumbled under my concentration, my stressed fingers dancing madly across the keyboard, typing out codes neither of them could even begin to understand. _

_"My god," Leo breathed, turning as stiff as a corpse at my words. Had I bothered to look away from the screen, I would have witnessed every possible horrible scenario play themselves out in his eyes, something I could definitely do without._

_Luckily, I was able to locate which tunnel the alarm was connected to, and I inwardly scolded myself for preventing all of this from happening in the first place. It was almost stupid enough to the point where I felt a little bit embarrassed._

_"No, no it's nothing like that," I quickly ensured him, logging on to the camera that was positioned in the sewer tunnel, a tiny window with night vision view popping up on the screen, providing me with a look at the scene, and – just like I had expected – there was nothing there. I glanced over my shoulder where I stood leaned over the desk, noticing for the first time that the rest of the family had gathered inside my crowded room, as well. Even Master Splinter, who had a grave, expectant look in his fixated eyes. Moving on to look at Leo, I shook my head with what I hoped was a calming smile. "Don't worry. It only does this to remind me that I need to change the batteries."_

_"Batteries?" Raph repeated in mild shock from where he stood, all the way in the back with Sensei. "You run this thing on batteries?"_

_"Well... yeah. You don't expect me to have cables leading all the way there, do you?"_

_Raphael shrugged indifferently._

_"Good batteries and a reliable transmitter works a lot more smoother than wiring. Trust me." To this, he only shot me a blank stare. "Just think of it as a car alarm," I explained. "You don't see that many people walking around with a cable down their pocket. Kind of unpractical, don't you think?"_

_"A'righ, a'right," Raph said, raising his hands in a gesture to silence me. "I wasn't that interested, Donnie."_

_Frowning briefly, I turned back to the screen to shut down the two windows I'd just opened, moving on to searching the drawers of my desk for the particular batteries I would need._

_"So, you're sure it's just the batteries, then?" Leo piped in, causing me to look up and meet his concerned eyes. "I mean, what if it's the real deal?" he pressed. "Don't you think we--"_

_"The alarm wouldn't turn off by itself like that if there was someone trespassing," I calmly explained to my always-cautious brother. "And I happen to know that this particular detector was running low on batteries. I got a signal earlier this week, telling me they needed changing. I should've just taken care of it on the spot. Could've saved everyone this pointless worry."_

_"But..." Mikey hesitantly began, a confused look twisting his features. "But it was so... loud. Would it really go off like that just cuz the batteries are checking out?"_

_"It would," I replied with a nod before going back to searching my desk for those batteries, "if they're close enough to run out completely. Kind of to let me know it needs an emergency change, which is why..." I then added, grabbing two of the many loose AA batteries in my drawer with a victorious smile, "I'm heading over there right now to take care of it."_

_"By yourself?" Leonardo asked._

_"Um... yeah?" I turned to him with a puzzled expression._

_"At least let me come with you," Leo insisted, his gaze unwavering as he spoke._

_"Leo, you really don't have to. I'm perfectly capable of changing a couple of batteries by myself," told him with a joking smile, shoving the batteries down a tiny pocket in my belt. "Besides," I added as an afterthought, "it's your turn to prepare lunch, remember?"_

_"Then have someone else come with you," Leo stubbornly countered._

_"I really don't see any reason t--"_

_"Please, Donatello," Master Splinter firmly cut in. "It would ease our minds, knowing you had someone with you."_

_"Well, of course, Master," I politely replied. "But I still think it's an unnecessary precaution."_

_"Precautions are never unnecessary," Splinter said, his solemn stare making me feel like I was seven again. "Michelangelo," he then said, turning to look at an alert Mikey, "you will accompany your brother down the tunnel."_

_"Sure thing, Sensei," Mike replied, looking quite happy about it. "Know what? It'll give me a chance to try out my new Batman flashlight. I found it the other day when we were patrolling," he chirped, already hurrying out of my room to fetch his new toy. "You wouldn't believe the awesome condition it's in! " he excitedly called over his shoulder as he ran down the platform._

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Tramping through the cold water, I held Mike almost as tight as if I deep down feared someone would run up beside us and snatch him right in front of my eyes. Of course, if that were to happen, I'd be given a warning. There was no way for someone to travel soundlessly through these tunnels. Even us, a couple of well-trained ninjas, couldn't help but splash as we ran through the freezing water.

However, the last time we'd stopped, there had been more splashing further down the tunnel, much like a lingering echo of our own, which of course I knew it wasn't. They'd been right behind us, not in sight, but close enough for me to hear them.

I didn't have the courage to stop and listen a second time.

Instead, my thoughts helplessly went back to before my world caved in; before panic and fear ruled my senses; before tears I didn't have the time for had abused my throat to the point where I felt as though I'd been forced to swallow razor blades.

To think it was only a little over an hour ago.

Like it had been decided, Mikey and I went to have a look at the motion detector. There had been nothing out of the ordinary with it. Just like I'd told them, the problem was the batteries needing changing, and only a few minutes after we'd left the lair, we were already on our way back home.

Mike had been tangibly disappointed that his cheap Batman flashlight hadn't worked as well as he'd hoped. A child's toy simply wasn't designed to function in the consuming darkness of New York City's sewer tunnels, and I couldn't help feeling sorry for him.

He'd been so excited when he found it in that alley. Judging by the shriek of delight he'd released when he saw it on the ground, I had almost half expected he'd found a winning lottery ticket or something.

Batman toy, one million dollars – had I really been _that_ surprised to learn that Mikey treasured them both equally?

Of course not. The _real _surprise had been waiting for us at home, where the others had stayed behind, convinced by none other than myself that they were perfectly safe.

Never before had it hurt so bad to be wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **_You are so not gonna like me after this chapter, though it didn't take me as long to update this time, so let's all be thankful for that. Plus, I'm sick at the moment, so let's all remember it's kinda rude to yell at someone who's down with the fever. But remember I did warn you about this fic being a bit more... disturbed than what you might be used to with my writing. And this chapter is very bloody, so sensitve readers be warned, or just don't read at all. Your choice. However, if you do decide to read it, I would very much like to know what your thoughts are. I love your reviews so much, and I wanna thank each and everyone of you for the ones left for the previous chapter. But my review responses will be posted as Stealthy Stories as usual. (Link can be found at my bio). So, I think that pretty much covers everything I had to say. Take care!  
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**Chapter 3**

_"You know what?" Mikey said, turning to look at me with those wide, energetic eyes of his; even in the darkness of these underground tunnels they seemed to almost radiate with life._

_"What?" I asked, kicking up garbage and washed down leafs as I walked. All things possible ended up in these water-free tunnels, being the closest to the street level above our heads, where people and cars passed right over us, having no idea there were two humanoid turtles promenading right beneath their blissful existence._

_"All this walking's made me wanna pee," Michelangelo said, turning to look ahead of him, his tiny Batman flashlight not doing very much to light up our path. It was a good thing we both knew this route good enough to walk it in our sleep._

_"All this walking?" I echoed with a small chuckle. "We barely even left the lair."_

_"What are you talking about, dude? We totally left the lair – and then some. I've even worked up an appetite for Leo's cooking," he said, rubbing his stomach in the darkness, as if adding proof to his statement._

_"Please, Mikey. Like you would ever have to work for your appetite." I shook my head at the mere thought of Mike turning down food, claiming he 'just wasn't hungry.'_

_With a throaty chuckle, he cheerfully admitted, "Good point."_

_Then, instinctively, the two of us stopped, and I crouched down in a half-seated position to dig up the plywood board that lay hidden in the garbage. Using both of my hands, I effortlessly lifted the board aside, revealing the ladder that lead down to our home. Swiftly brushing the dirt off my hands by sweeping them across my thighs, I then moved over to place my right foot on the top rung of the entrance ladder, Mike waiting anxiously behind me for his turn._

_Having taken one step after the other, I soon found myself standing on the upper platform of our home, giving Mike, who came climbing down above me, a quick glance before descending the stairway that led to the main platform._

_There was soft music coming from inside the kitchen sub car further down the platform, where I assumed Leo kept himself busy with our lunch. Going over there to let him know there was no need to worry about the motion detector, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Mike left for the bathroom, the carriage that was the closest to the stairway, on one's right side when entering._

_"Leo, I told you there--" Stopping in mid sentence when discovering the view behind the living room couch, I felt my throat close up in terror, as if someone physically strangled me, keeping me from breathing._

_Lying still on the floor, on his back, was my father. Both his eyes were wide open, frozen in a look that seemed to have captured a level of fear I had never expected to see in his gaze, and, on the center of his forehead, right above his eyes, a small bullet wound spoke of his unfair fate._

_"My God..." I managed to whisper to myself, feeling as though the ground was moving beneath me, swaying back and forth, making me both physically and mentally nauseous._

_However, before I had any chance to take in the macabre discovery I'd just stumbled upon, there was a short, almost strangled scream coming from inside the bathroom sub car, as if the cry trailed off into silence because of not enough oxygen being able to pass through the throat._

_"Mikey!"_

_I quickly turned on my heel and ran down the platform, finding Mike frozen in the doorway of the bathroom carriage, wide, heartbroken eyes staring straight ahead of him. I immediately pushed my way past him and then froze when discovering the cause of his inconsolable cry._

_Lying right in front of me in the tub, one arm carelessly thrown over the porcelain white edge, was none other than Raphael._

_I somehow managed to take a few strengthless steps forward, until I stopped at the full view of my red-masked brother, my stomach churning violently._

_His shell was facing upside, and his features were facing down, while neck and shoulders were completely painted in deep red blood – the kind that comes from the deepest, most precious of vessels. And, not only was he showered in it, but he was practically swimming in it, as well; the entire bottom of the hot tub was covered in that metal scented, gut sickening sea, which blanketed larger parts of the floor, as well._

_I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think, I couldn't even bring myself to cry._

_I even had to look a second time to make sure it was really Raph; that his mask wasn't just dyed red by all the blood. But I recognized the many scars and scratches across his shell, and therefore knew the body could belong to none other than Raph. Not that I wanted it to be Leo, but I felt I had to know which one of my brothers' butchered remains I was looking at._

_Then, harshly waking me up from my momentary trance that hadn't even lasted more than a second was the sound of sub car doors being pulled open with violent force._

_It was the carriage straight across the platform – Leo's room – but the person coming out of it wasn't him._

_He was dressed in black from head to toe; wearing what I assumed was a bulletproof vest, and hiding his identity underneath a black ski mask that was pulled over his head, exposing his features to the degree where I knew I'd wake up from having nightmares about that face. But what struck me the hardest about him – what scared me the most – was the black, small gun he held in his raised hand, pointing it straight at Michelangelo and myself._

_I barely managed to scream my brother's name during the surreal panic of him firing his weapon, over and over again, silent bullets coming right at us. Pushing Mike to the side, his body vehemently crashing into the wall, I jumped for cover by the wall opposite his, the sound of muffled bullets bouncing off against the thick, iron surface of the tub. I desperately tried to protect myself from the bullets by crawling up into a ball of some sorts; my legs pulled up to my plastron and my face hidden behind my cramping arms, just hoping none of the bullets hit flesh. _

_Then when the shooting finally stopped, and I dared open my eyes again, I discovered another black clad guy lying on the floor to my left, his face hidden on the other side of the toilet. I then realized that the blood on the floor didn't belong to Raph, or at least not all of it. He was lying in a massive pool of it, the gore having spread across the floor towards the opposite wall, where the carriage leaned just the slightest._

_Also, lying on the floor by his hip, was a large, black machinegun of some sorts. I grabbed it almost instinctively, my clumsy fingers fumbling with the slippery, blood-dripping weapon in my hands, until I finally managed to point it outside the open door, where the armed intruder had barely walked into sight. I frantically pressed my finger to the trigger, the gun shaking madly in my arms as the bullets pelted my home._

_"Holy shit!" The man instantly threw himself to the side once the shooting began, disappearing from my view. Panting heavily, not from exhaustion, but out of fear, I then refrained from shooting to hear if he was still alive, using the opportunity to look ahead of me and see how Mike was holding up._

_"Mikey!" I couldn't help but gasp in fright, noticing he was bleeding from two places: his right shoulder as well as his right thigh. He had his head tiredly leaned back against the white tile I'd dressed the bathroom walls in a little over a year ago, parts of it splattered in the sickening contrast of his fresh, crimson blood, some of it smeared out from what I imaged was when I'd smashed his body into the wall. His eyes, meanwhile, were tightly shut in what must have been both physical and mental anguish, judging by the glistening trail of tears on his damp cheeks._

_We had to leave now, or I knew I would no longer have a brother to leave with._

_Maybe we could somehow shoot our way past the guy outside, because I wasn't leaving without knowing for sure that my oldest brother was dead, too. It wasn't that I wanted to see Leo's dead body – the pain of having seen two of my family members murdered was bad enough to haunt me for whatever short time I may have had left to live – but I just couldn't leave, knowing there was the slightest possibility he might still be alive. Knowing there might still be a chance to save him._

_"Jared?" a hesitant voice suddenly called out from inside Leonardo's sub car, and my heart sank at the realization that there were at least two of them. Two armed strangers in my home; having shot and killed my family in the matter of the few minutes we'd been out. And, counting the corpse lying next to me, there had even been three of them, originally._

_"Stay the fuck in there!" the angry voice of the guy in the living room yelled back to his friend. "They're armed!" Then, after staying quiet for a moment or two, he furiously added to himself, "FUCK!"_

_I didn't know if he was shot, or just pissed, but I really hoped it was the former possibility._

_A new voice then came from inside Leo's sub car, much gruffer in character than any of the others had been. "Well, what should we do about this one?" _

My God... Leo!

_"How the fuck should I know?" the man angrily called back to his partner. "Juz keep the camera rolling."_

_"Leo!" I cried out in panic, knowing for certain now that my brother was inside that room with at least two of them, being filmed for God knows what unspeakable reasons. "Leo?" I repeated, this time more pleading, feeling my tears push their way up my throat, where I stubbornly locked them in, not having the time to break down, or even the energy._

_"Shut the fuck up!" the guy in the living room yelled, only to be silenced by more of my bullets._

_I was so mad. The passion behind the hatred was unlike any emotion I had ever experienced before, and I aimed the gun in every direction I could think of, hoping at least one of the bullets would hit home. Then, to my great fear, the weapon suddenly stopped vibrating in my arms._

_It was empty, used up. I only wished they hadn't realized that, as well._

_"What did you do to him!" I furiously called out to them, all the while fearing the answer that might come. Nonetheless, I had to know._

_"What do ya think?" the man in the living room called back, my booming heart sinking to the pit of my stomach at his answer._

No...

_"LEO!" I cried again, more desperate than before, my hurtful voice breaking in my throat. I helplessly needed an answer from him, yet I knew in my broken heart there wouldn't come any. _

_Sensei was dead, Raphael was dead, and I only hoped Leonardo was, too... for his sake._

_Looking across the room, I caught Mikey's red burst eyes, and though there were violent tears pouring down from them, they still remained mute. I couldn't quite decide whether it was out of fear, or simply because his pain was so deep, there just wasn't any human sound to express it._

_I knew exactly how he felt, and I found myself wishing I could carry his pain, too. Somehow spare him the grisly scene we'd unexpectedly walked in on; spare him the loss._

_Knowing he was everything I had left, knowing I wouldn't survive if he were killed along with the rest of them, I somehow managed to grasp a rational thought in the midst of all the chaos._

_We had to leave this very instant, before they grew the balls to try and get inside the bathroom a second time. They'd shoot us like sitting ducks._

_I pinched the machinegun in my left armpit, leaning over to inspect the unknown corpse lying next to me. I spared a quick, worried glance at Mikey before turning the man over, discovering the gruesome image of his bloody legs barely being able to cling to his torso, as if someone had stabbed him in the thighs and crotch countless of times. Judging by the assaulted condition of his dented vest, I figured someone must have tried to somehow stab through it, until ultimately giving up and moving on to his lower body._

_I couldn't help but think of Raph. This looked like his work, and, though sadistically strange, I found myself feeling sentimentally proud over my fallen brother._

_He certainly hadn't gone down without a fight._

_However, glancing up at his black-dressed face, I realized most of his ski mask was drenched in blood, more than likely the result of the bullet wound in the center of his forehead. In fact, most of the blood that had spread across the floor seemed to have come from the large puddle his head had been lying in before I'd turned him over._

_Had Raph shot him? I couldn't picture my red-masked brother with a gun. Not that I'd ever imagined myself using one, but..._

_I just wanted to know what the hell had happened. _

_Pushing these feelings aside, I quickly moved on to search him for more ammunition, or even another gun if he had one on him. It wasn't my favorite weapon of choice, but with these guys you really had to fight fire with fire. Starting to panic over the fact that he didn't seem to have anything useful on him, I moved down to check the blood-smeared pockets on the side of his legs, where I to my great relief felt something bulging out._

_Hurriedly, I reached inside the pocket and grabbed what felt like a couple of small, rock hard lemons. Pulling my hand out, I instantly realized they were hand grenades, and the realization of it filled me with both hope and fear. Hope, that we still had a chance to fight our way out of this living hell, but fear that our mysterious enemies were armed to their teeth._

_I nervously shoved one of the grenades down my belt, while keeping a firm hold on the other one. Then, turning to look at Michelangelo, who by now seemed to have slipped into some kind of state of shock. His tear-filled eyes were locked on what could be seen of Raph's bloody body in the tub, and the pace of his tears seemed to have slowed down tremendously. He didn't seem to be aware of much, other than the fact that Raphael was gone, the brother which he'd always loved and idolized._

_"Mikey!" I quietly hissed his name, trying to earn his attention, but his alone. Sadly, there wasn't a single sign of a reaction from him. "Mike? MIKEY!"_

_Finally, he slowly turned his head to look at me, his face completely empty of emotions, something I had never before seen on him. It took a lot to drain Mike of his feelings, and I guess these guys knew exactly what buttons to push. Sparing a quick glance out the door, I then looked back to Mike and pointed out the open window of the sub car, positioned right above the hot tub, carefully mouthing the words, "Out. The window."_

_Hopelessness and defeat almost instantly washed over his features, and he tiredly shook his head in protest, his tears once again picking up their speed._

_"Now!" I angrily hissed, boring my commanding stare into him. Slowly, Michelangelo began to move, wincing in obvious torment when adjusting his body into a position where he stood on all four, slowly, painfully crawling across the floor while trying to keep down the volume of his sobbing._

_Once again casting a worried glance out the living room, wondering just what the hell the guy was doing out there, I carefully began to crawl across the floor as well, leaving the empty machinegun behind, but keeping an almost obsessive hold of the grenade. When reaching the tub, Mike slowly attempted to stand, not wanting to use any help by holding onto the tub in which Raph's body lay. I quickly rose to help him, concerned hands gripping both sides of his plated body, trying not to stare directly at Raphael._

_Mikey slowly lifted one of his feet to the edge of the tub, me supporting him the whole time, and then moved to lift his other foot, as well. I felt his entire body shake in grief as he was forced to take the giant step over the body, and he grabbed almost helplessly onto the windowsill, just standing there with his head out the window, which, luckily enough, was always open. _

_There had never been any glass when we moved in, and I just never bothered to put one in. We figured the bathroom could use the extra vent of air._

_"Mikey, c'mon," I carefully whispered, once again looking out the door to see if we still had time on our side._

_Standing on the far edge of the tub, Mike tiredly lifted his head and slowly moved one leg outside the window, the other one following shortly thereafter. He remained sitting on the sill for a moment or two until determination finally seemed to settle inside of him, and he jumped._

_Stressed, I quickly put my right foot on the bathtub edge, trying not to step in any of the blood. Desperately curling my foot around the cold porcelain, I moved on to lift my left one, as well, but I had been in such a hurry that when I was finally standing on the edge of the tub, I just couldn't hold my balance. Falling forward I reflexively stepped onto Raphael's shell, causing his bloody body to slightly twist in the tub. I wished I hadn't looked down, but I just couldn't help it. _

_Once turned, I was able to see his face, or what was left of it. The bullet that had been put into his neck seemed to have gone out his face, taking larger parts of it with it._

_I couldn't recognize my brother at all. Where his sarcastic features had once been was now nothing but a gory, gaping hole, like someone had gone berserk on his face with an axe._

_The need to vomit instantly took over, and I desperately tried to hold back the reflex puke, feeling my stomach muscles contract in protest. I was standing on my dead brother's body! And, as if that wasn't bad enough, I had just looked into the eyes that no longer even existed._

_Looking away from the corpse, keeping my eyes closed and just trying to put all my thoughts and energy into not throwing up, I somehow managed to regain control over myself, even though the memory of his blown away face continuously kept flashing by in my mind's eye. Realizing I was already leaning on the windowsill, I was met by Michelangelo's worried stare once I opened my eyes, looking up at me from where he stood in the tiny space between the sub car and the tunnel wall._

_I gave him a small nod to convince him I was all right and then stepped off of Raphael's slippery shell, hurriedly swinging my right leg across the windowsill. When moving to hang my left leg out the window, I caught a sudden strike of fear coming over Mikey's face._

_"What about Sensei?" he frantically asked, my heart aching sadly for him._

_"He's gone," I simply told him, no more, no less. He didn't need the details, and I didn't have the time to give them to him._

_"Gone?" Mike repeated, his voice rising in panic. "Wh-what do ya mean? He's not in the lair? Cuz maybe he--"_

_"What the fuck?" I heard someone utter behind me, my blood turning cold in my veins._

_Seated on the windowsill, I spun me head around to find one of the intruders standing a few feet from the doorway, already on his way to point his gun and fire. Immediately pulling the pin out of the grenade in my right hand, which sat surprisingly tight, I quickly threw the tiny bomb out the door and made the six feet jump out the window, my legs caving in fear of the oncoming explosion._

_How long did it take for these things to go off, anyway? Two seconds? Five? I had no clue, and simply settled for scrambling to my feet and pushing Mikey from the behind, urging him to run faster, forcing him to move faster than his wounds allowed._

_"Run!" I screamed at him. "Run!"_

_I had no idea how many seconds passed until the blow finally came, but it felt like a lifetime, as far as I was concerned. The deafening explosion shook the old subway station with such force the both of us actually lost our footing, myself landing on top of a shocked Michelangelo. Afterwards, I could hear heavy rocks and larger parts of the structure fall to the ground, our home crumbling into worthlessness right behind us._

_I wondered just how powerful the blast had been. Had it only blown up the living room, or ruined the carriages as well? I really hoped it had been enough to kill them all, but knew there was still a possibility the ones inside Leo's room could have survived._

_If that was the case, at least then we had a good head start on them. It would be tough to get past all the debris, certainly if they'd been wounded. Knowing we had to get out of here as fast as physically possible, I rested my weight on both of my hands, about to rise to my feet when a blinding pain suddenly surged through my body, causing my arms to give way to my weight._

_Grabbing onto my left collarbone by reflex, I realized to my surprise that I was bleeding; warm, fresh blood poured out from what felt like a bullet wound. He must have shot me right before I tossed the grenade, or perhaps right after? I must have been too stressed to comprehend the hit. I'd heard adrenaline could do that to a person._

_Quickly pushing these thoughts aside, I made another attempt to rise, this time making sure I wasn't leaning too heavily on my left arm. It still hurt, but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle._

_I quickly looked at Mike who lay in front of me, his arms folded over his head in an attempt to shield himself from the explosion I hadn't prepared him for. I wanted to grab onto him and force him to his feet, but the space between the sub car and the wall was only wide enough to fit one person. Instead, I settled for trying to pull him up from the behind, him flinching instantly when I by accident made contact with the wet wound in his right shoulder._

_"Get up!" I told him. "Mike, c'mon! We have to get out of here."_

_Staggering to his feet, he fearfully looked over his shoulder. "What happened?"_

_I only pushed him forwards. "You have to run for me, okay? It was a pretty big explosion, but I'm not sure it was enough to kill them all."_

_"But what about Master Splinter?" he hesitated, halting in his tracks._

_It wasn't a question I wanted to answer, especially not when he clung so desperately to the idea of him somehow still being alive. "I'm sorry, Mikey, but... he's dead, too," I said, the image of his lifeless eyes still lingering in my mind. "I found him in the living room."_

_Still not attempting to move, I felt his body freeze at the news. It was truly horrible to learn that your father – your mentor and master – had been killed along with everyone else you cared about, but I just couldn't grant him the time to grieve._

_"Mikey, c'mon," I insisted, pushing at him from behind, willing for him to pick up his speed. "We have to go. Now!"_

_Finally, I seemed to have reached through to him, and together the two of us ran down the dark, narrow tunnel, my splintered heart praying for my family to forgive me for blowing them up. I knew they were already dead, but I felt as though I'd just escaped a burning building, leaving them all inside to burn. And had I only considered the possibility that it might have been a real alarm, none of this would have happened in the first place._

_I had myself to blame for far too many things._


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **_Thank you for sticking around even though I've been so mean to the guys. I kinda feared all the readers would mysteriously drop off the radar. I promise your questions will be answered in time (or at least most of them will be). Meanwhile, here's Chapter 4. Review responses will as usual be posted at Stealthy Stories. Check my profile for the link. At the moment, I'm pursuing this certain authoress to beta read this for me, but I have the attention span of a two year-old, so I kinda went ahead and posted this even though it probably needs fixing. I think we're about halfway through this fic now, so hopefully you'll stick around for the rest. Thanks! Don't forget to drop that review before you leave._

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**Chapter 4**

I didn't know whether or not to be thankful that Mikey had come with me to look at the motion detector. Obviously, knowing the outcome, it filled me with more relief than I could ever contain, but at the same time...

What about the others? Sensei, Raph... Leo. He offered to come with me, he did; and I turned him down. Did that make me responsible? And, even if I had known what I knew now, would I have acted any different? If someone had told me that my family was about to be gunned down by a bunch of armed psychopaths, and that I could only save one of them, would I have chosen differently?

I know. It was a stupid hypothetical situation. Why would I have been given a warning for what happened? And why would I only have the chance to save one of them? It was stupid, and the thought didn't make any sense at all, but... I couldn't help but wonder.

_Had_ I been forced into picking only one of them to come with me, would I have chosen differently?

I seriously doubted it.

Even if I had been given the heartbreaking option to choose, I felt painfully certain Mike would still be the one running beside me right now.

It wasn't that I loved him any more than I did the others - of course not. I loved them all more than I was ever able to tell them. But my instinct to protect burned so much stronger for Mikey than it had for any of the others. Age difference or not, he _was _my little brother, and I couldn't bare the thought of him dying, no matter what the scenario.

I couldn't believe I was actually thinking these thoughts, only minutes after having lost the rest of my family. Their bodies weren't even cold yet, figuratively speaking, and I was already more or less thankful that things had turned out the way they had. I decided this must have been the true definition of evil. Sure, many people I'd come across over the years had lied and cheated, killed and raped, but to actually _know_ that you would choose a certain loved one over the others...

I felt so disgusted with myself.

I briefly wondered if the others knew what I was thinking. Could they hear my traitorous thoughts, now that they were dead? I didn't really believe in the afterlife – I trusted more in science and proof – but I couldn't help but wonder if it was my conscience that was haunting me, or the letdown spirits of my own family.

Whatever it was, it wasn't something I could outrun, especially not when our pace had slowed down as much as it had. And to top it all off, I feared we were lost. Somewhere in the darkness of these tunnels and my thoughts, I'd lost my focus... and my way.

Mikey felt so heavy next to me, and I wondered if it was because he barely made any effort to move on his own, or if it was my own bullet wound that was starting to have its effect on me. Either way, we were moving way too slow for my liking. We were barely trudging through the cold water, basically just trying to stay upright. And that's when it suddenly hit me.

"Hold on," I abruptly ordered, stopping in my tracks, holding on to Michelangelo with all my might, knowing he was my dearest and _only_ remaining family member.

"What is it?" he fearfully whispered, looking at me with those big, innocent eyes of his, making me feel as though I was a lifetime older than him.

"Listen," I quietly told him, turning my head around to stare down the narrow tunnel behind us, appearing almost hauntingly endless in the consuming darkness.

Mike, sweaty and pale, slowly turned his head to follow my gaze, and I could distinctly feel how weak he was in his knees when they seemed to give way at his movement, even if only for a short, uncontrolled second. I possessively held on to him, knowing that second was only one of many moments where he would slip just a little bit farther from my helplessly clawing grasp.

"I... I don't hear anything," he finally said after awhile, turning back to me in search for answers.

"Exactly," I allowed myself a brief smile. "No splashing. No running. I think they've fallen behind."

I was almost ecstatic to see relief wash over his face; the feeling seemed to have been absent for far too long, and it looked so much better on him compared to the defeat, hopelessness and desolation he'd been weighed down by ever since the gruesome discovery. Sadly, my happiness was taken away almost as fast as I'd found it.

"Good, cuz I really need to rest," he mumbled, lowering his head and panting heavily.

"What?" I questioned in panic. "No. No! No, we've gotta keep moving. This is our chance to lose them."

"I'm serious, Donnie," he breathed, shaking the head that still hung in exhaustion. "I can't run any farther."

Stubbornly tightening my hold around his shell, I proceeded to walk, purposely ignoring him. "Well, you're just gonna have to."

"Donnie, _please_."

His weak, pleading voice stopped me almost instantly, awakening feelings inside of me I just couldn't deny, and I woefully turned around to look at him, my broken heart taking yet another blow.

"I... I really need to sit down," he said, looking right at me, the seriousness in his gaze far more powerful than I could have ever prepared myself for. "Juz for a little while. Please."

I didn't like this new look on him; it was as though he'd seen a glimpse of his own future. I much rather preferred it when he was in shock, too far gone to move or even think on his own command – at least then I could do something to help him. At least then I could move and think _for_ him. But now...

How was I supposed to help someone that had come to terms with the thought that he was _beyond_ help – and, what was more important – had grown to accept that. _How?_

It was only another reason for my throat to tear up, and I stubbornly pushed down the tears, addressing my little brother with a pleading, almost inaudible voice. "Mikey, _please_... just a little bit farther. You won't even have to run. We can walk. I- I could carry you. Just... just a for a few more minutes."

But he sadly shook his head at me, and the blood he was covered in suddenly felt more tangible than it had before, more wet against my fingertips. God, he was bleeding so much. To think of all the blood he must have lost since we'd left the lair... I was surprised that he was even conscious, not to mention still _standing_ – right here beside me.

He was a whole lot stronger than any of us had ever given him credit for. Unfortunately, he also knew his limits... as did I, no matter how bad I wanted to deny it.

"Okay," I said, the forced word never leaving my trembling lips, a big part of me still refusing to give in to the thought that this was as far as Michelangelo would get. "Okay," I repeated, finding my voice on the second attempt. "But we can't stop here," I firmly added. "We'll have to find someplace where we can take some sort of cover, or at least be prepared for them if or when they catch up with us. Okay?"

He nodded in understanding, although I could tell he would've much rather preferred to just take a seat right where we stood. He didn't seem to care that we were almost knee-deep in sewage water. I guess he just felt compelled to compromise.

Adjusting my hold around him, I winced silently when I was reminded of the wound right beneath my left shoulder blade. It was pulsating fiercely, and while I felt as though my left arm was nothing but a frozen block of ice, the wound itself seemed to burn with the heat of the sun. Mikey didn't know I'd been shot, and I didn't plan to tell him about it. He'd only worry about me and, well... he really needed to be more concerned with himself right now.

Almost cradling him next to me, I made sure he had a solid hold around my neck before I slowly picked up our pace, watching him wince in pain with each heavy step we took. If I'd had the power, I would have picked him up in my arms and just run till my legs couldn't carry us any farther, but I didn't. So instead I settled for walking in his pace, carefully scanning the oval brick walls around us for any sort of space we could crawl inside and just disappear from sight.

Who was I kidding? There was no "space" for us to crawl inside. I hadn't been able to fit inside those tunnels since I was a child, and even then I ended up getting stuck! These big shells of ours just wasn't meant for crawling into crowded spaces. But as we trudged through the numbing stream, things finally began to look familiar to me.

I recognized this tunnel.

Up ahead, beyond what the eye could see, there was a rusty iron ladder leading up to a certain manhole we'd used on more than one occasion. It led straight to a darkened alley in the out parts of Manhattan, in walking distance of an old pizza restaurant. The place should have gone out of business eons ago, but the lack of up keeping did wonders for keeping us somewhat anonymous the few times we actually came inside to order dinner.

The manhole was obviously unimportant to me, the daylight having robbed us of any chance to surface from this closed up hell, but the tunnel on our right wasn't. We wouldn't be able to access it until a few yards up ahead where the two tunnels flowed together and created just the one path. I knew Mikey didn't have the strength to go down that tunnel, but at least we would be somewhat protected from sight. We would hear it if they came, and we'd be prepared for them. It wasn't my best plan, I had to admit, but strategy had always been Leo's department anyw...

I felt an instant stab of pain to my chest when his name crossed my mind, a pain that was quickly replaced with feelings of grief and shame. It occurred to me then that I would never be able to say his name – or the others', for that matter – without being pulled down by the clawing grasp of my own guilt. How sad, really. Every good memory I had of them had been cruelly overshadowed by the very last one. I would forevermore connect their faces with nothing but pain, suffering and self-loathing. Although I had a feeling forever was going to be cut short for me, and even if the thought of being separated from Mikey scared me senseless, the concept of dying in itself almost felt soothing, in a pathetic, weak and selfish sort of way.

I had never been a morbid person, in fact, I had always considered myself someone who hungered and thirsted for life's many unexplored mysteries – perhaps not in the blissful sense that Michelangelo did – but I had never found company in the thoughts of darkness and nonexistence. Death had always been something I'd feared, something I hadn't spent much time thinking about _because_ of that fear. But if the rest of my life was going to be like this...

Well, would it truly be so terrible if it didn't last much longer?

As if he'd overheard my thoughts and purposely tried to interrupt them, Michelangelo then tripped over his own feet. I was able to hold on to him and keep him from landing in the cold water, but his entire weight depending on me to hold him up took more energy than I'd expected. I felt the lactic acid pumping through my right arm, my muscles burning fiercely in protest, and my legs shook beneath me as I gritted my teeth and attempted to pull him back up to his feet.

"C'mon, Mikey," I hissed through my teeth, trying to tap into strength that just wouldn't be found. "It's only a few more steps. Mikey, c'mon. Just a few mo--" My plea was rudely cut short as my knees ultimately gave in to the overweight and the two of us landed in the freezing stream. For a moment or two, my face was under water, and in my panic I swallowed a few mouthfuls of bacteria infested fluid that tasted of mud, iron and cold. Lifting my head almost immediately, I loudly gasped for air, pulling up a coughing Michelangelo next to me.

"Mikey, c'mon. Get up. We can't stay in the water. You have to get up." I somehow managed to stumble to my feet and moved to stand in front of him, slipping in my arms underneath his and pulling him up by his armpits. "C'mon, bro... Get up...Up..." He was so heavy. How I'd ever been able to throw him over my shoulder during morning practice was beyond me.

To my relief, he began to move, tiredly struggling to stand on his injured leg. The water must have felt like acid in his wound, I know it did in mine. I just felt like I wanted to beat the living out of anyone or anything that touched it. Finally, he seemed to have found his foothold again, and with his help I managed to pull him up out of the water. I felt him leaning into my embrace, exhaustion weighing down his limbs, and I instantly snaked my arms around him, thankful for every little act of miracle we were given.

It was so nice to hold someone solid in my arms; someone that was living and breathing, taking comfort in my embrace. It didn't even matter to me that this someone reeked of blood and sweat, shaking helplessly because of the unmerciful cold. I was only thankful that he was alive, that I wasn't alone.

Having drawn strength from this, I found myself panting in relief, tightening my hold on my little brother. "You're doing great, Mikey. I'm so proud of you. You're doing great." I felt the tears build up, yet I insisted on holding them back. There was probably enough time for me to shed a tear or two, but in my heart I knew that if I gave just one drop of pain the OK to slip by my control, I would be helpless to stop the thousand others that would follow.

"Now c'mon," I said, parting myself from him to search eye contact, "we have to keep moving. I swear... it's just a few more steps." Eyes closed in agony; he repeatedly shook his head, once again seeking shelter in my arms. "Mikey, c'mon, " I insisted, holding him away from my body, trying to get him to stand on his own. "I know you can do it. Just a few more steps and then we rest. Okay?"

Swallowing water and tears, he then nodded, finally opening his swollen eyes to look at me. "Okay," he said, still nodding, as though he was trying to convince himself of it.

I quickly moved my right arm around his shell and took his left wrist to cradle his other arm around my neck, taking slow, careful steps as if to test his strength. He looked like a walking corpse, but walk he did.

A victorious sensation washed over me. I felt like I had cheated Death, tricked him into letting me keep my little brother for another few more minutes. I knew it was Death that had been pulling and grabbing at him, taking every chance he got to try and steal him from my arms, but yet again he'd lost. I wouldn't give him up – not for anything in the world.

He couldn't have him, not Mikey.

Making sure Mike stayed on his feet, I expectantly looked ahead of me; waiting for the corner I knew would come. I realized then that Mike wasn't the only one who needed rest. The thought of sitting down sure did sound appealing. I couldn't remember ever having been this exhausted before – both physically and mentally. Every square inch of my mind, body and soul was begging for me to sit, just lean back and do nothing.

Thankfully, the corner did come; I noticed the brickwork ending a few yards up ahead. "There it is," I told him, picking up our pace as we stumbled through the water. "It's right there. Just a few more steps."

I felt like I was running, my breathing harsh and shallow, but in truth I was barely even walking. My legs seemed to stumble over one another in a drunken haze, and Mikey's nearly sapless body considerably weighed down my left side. Then, finally rounding the corner, I walked through the shallow water, my eyes locked on the dry piece of sidewalk that ran right next to the underground stream. Upon reaching it, I heavily dropped Mikey on the muddy concrete ground, collapsing right next to him on his right, leaning my shell against the slippery brick wall behind me.

I had never breathed so hard in my entire life. It was as though each breath carried with it a thousand others I'd earlier been denied. I felt like I was a newborn, breathing only for the first time, the sensation of air coming in and out of my lungs almost foreign to me.

I felt _alive_.

Looking over my left shoulder, I realized to my always-present horror that Mikey seemed far from it. His back was also leaned against the wall, but his tired head rested silently on his right shoulder, eyes closed in what I hoped was merely unconsciousness.

I imagined Death's presence again, having snuck up on my brother when I wasn't watching. It was as though I could see him reach his bony arms around Mikey and gradually pull him further away from me. I instantly reached out and grabbed for him, my hands nervously fumbling over his sweaty, blood-painted form.

He was just going to have to fight me for him, because, like I said earlier, there was no chance I'd give him up.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** _Wow. Would ya look at that. This is fresh out of the oven. I just finished typing up the last word to this chapter, and I can barely even believe it myself. But it would seem as if I've updated 'Hunted'. And not a day too soon, I guess. But you know how writer's block can be. And it's not that I'm over it. I've still got the block, but I simply had to work around it to be able to move on with this story. This chapter resembles very little to what I had in mind at first. Many things I wanted included in this story had to be taken out, but it's just cuz they were so long and boring to type up. I figured that if it was too boring to write, it probably wasn't that excited to read about either. And so this is the result of me working around that. I hope you like, and if not, well... that's okay, too. But either way, I'd be really happy if you left some sort of comment. Thank you for being so patient with this, your reviews and kind remindings mean the world to me, where this story in particular has a special place in my heart. Lame, I know - but true. Anyway, for review responses check Stealthy Stories. If you can't find 'em, drop me a PM or something and I'll give better directions. As for now, enjoy._

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**Chapter 5**

"Mikey... Mike? Mikey!"

Shaking his body with hands so frightened they were barely able to grasp on to him, I held my breath when awaiting his reaction. A sound, a movement... anything! But the seconds went by and his head still hung forward, almost as if his neck had been snapped. He looked like a worn rag doll someone had carelessly tossed aside, and refusing to think the unthinkable I stubbornly pulled him into my arms, pressing his slumped form against my tightened chest. I could then feel his warm breath brush against my wet skin, right above my plastron where all of us seemed extra sensitive to touch; it was dangerously irregular and very faint, but at least there was still life in his lungs to be saved.

The realization instantly woke up my "medical instincts", as my brothers would call... _used_ to call it.

I just couldn't get used to having to think of them in past tense, and each time I had to remind myself of that it was like coming home to find them dead all over again. The soft sound of the radio playing in the spine chilling silence, the blood painted bathroom, Raph's butchered face...

Even now I felt my stomach churning at the memory. It was still so fresh. Even the harsh scent of iron coming from our own wounds – our blood – reminded me of that bathroom. The blood, the tub, the loud gunshots bouncing off of it... the blood.

Oh god, all that blood. There had been no need to check for a pulse on Raphael, because all that blood _screamed_ death. Nobody could lose that much and live. You only had to take one step into that room and knowit was already too late. All that was left to do for that person was to mourn them.

But I didn't have the time to mourn them, not now, not when my little brother was still depending on me to save him. And so I gently let go of him, making sure he was still leaning on me, and then quickly moved my hands behind my head to untie my bandanna. The pain in my left shoulder was unbearable, as if all the nerves connected to that muscle carried shots of electricity throughout my limb and down then my spine. It hurt so bad; I had to bite down just to keep myself from screaming, but I needed that arm.

It simply _had_ to function.

It took me a while to untie the knot, but when I finally did a thrilling wave of success coursed through me with newfound energy as I began to tie the tourniquet around his right shoulder, its strangling grasp causing his features to twist in torment. Silly as it may have been, I felt like I could do anything. If I could just suppress my own pain and weakness, maybe then we actually stood a chance. Maybe then I could salvage what was left of my family and fight for the ones we'd lost... the ones they'd so heartlessly taken from us.

I knew I wasn't fit to fight those guys, were they to find us. They carried weapons I'd only ever seen in movies, and I couldn't even carry my own brother, but the thought of shoving the edge of my staff into that oh so fragile spot in the back of their heads sure did sound appealing. I was not a violent person; in fact, I'd always seen violence as a sort of last resort solution, but the fantasy of their sapless bodies collapsing in the cold, condemning sewage stream brought the warmest of smiles to my face.

It was justice, and the thought seemed more beautiful than anything else at the moment. They'd killed them in our own home, brought down the illusion of a place we'd always found safe and comforting. They'd put out their lives in a matter of short, simple minutes that could never be undone, and I wanted to restore the honor to my fallen family. I wanted... I wanted to kill them.

I wanted to stand with their murdered bodies at my feet.

Not knowing how long I'd been lost in these consuming thoughts, I was quickly brought back to reality once Mikey stirred in my embrace. A faint moan and a slight twist of his head against my plastron, but it was all he needed to gather my full attention. I instantly grabbed a gentle hold of him, lifting his head up by his chin and searching for contact in eyes that were tightly shut. There wasn't any source of light in those cold tunnels they'd trapped us in, but I could still make out wrinkles of agony on his features. His face was twisted in the kind of pain time could never heal. Even while unconscious, the memories seemed to haunt him, and I wasn't the least bit surprised when I found out with whom his thoughts were.

"...Raph."

Sadness blossomed inside of me as he twisted against my body, our dead brother's name leaving his lips in short, desperate murmurs. But I wasn't quite sure if it truly was the memories visiting him, or if he simply thought _I _was Raph. His skin had become hot and sweaty, and so who knew what words of illusion that fever of his whispered to him.

Swallowing the burning lump that had gathered in my throat, the loud sound of it echoing in my head only seemed to remind me of how alone I truly was. The only family I had left was hallucinating in my arms, and the cold brick walls of these deserted tunnels did very little to comfort me. I felt like the ending was closing in on me, and the thought of our time running out pushed me into working faster. Hurriedly, almost panicking, I leaned Michelangelo back with his shell against the tunnel wall. I then moved into another position for better reach, and with my padded knees pressed to the hard, wet ground I searchingly moved my hands behind his head to work on the knot of his mask.

My fingers nearly stumbled over one another in my hurry, where I felt as though Death was now only standing a few feet away from us, observing me with a silent, confident smile on his soulless features. I almost felt like he admired me in his silence, yet at the same time mocked me for even trying. He was confident of his victory, and with Mike's feverish mumbling it was starting to get very hard to prove him otherwise.

But my medical instincts were still taking the lead, and with silent, neglected tears running down my cheeks I slipped his mask off of his face, moving it down to tie it around his blood covered thigh. It only reached around the limb twice, and I felt like I was gradually giving in when I was forced to finish it with a desperately tight knot.

Then, staring into thin air, as if challenging Death to even try, I protectively wrapped my arms around his warm body and tried to find a comfortable position. I finally settled for stretching out my legs on the cold, uneven ground, my heels occasionally brushing the surface of the freezing water. I proceeded to pull Mikey's sapless body towards me, twisted in some awkward position where the only thing holding his heavy head up was my plastron. He was lying face down, with his shoulders pushed together by my guarding hold, and both his arms lay limp at his sides.

Tiredly, I rested my right cheek on top of his head, and sitting like that I could taste the salt of my own tears as they followed a stubborn trail down to the left corner of my mouth. I felt my Bo staff being pushed against my neck where I sat against the wall, and realized then for the first time that I still had it on me. Not that it mattered. What use was it to me when I couldn't even use my arm? Was use was it to me when my enemies were armed to their teeth? I didn't stand a chance to their guns. The only hope I really had was that they wouldn't find us. That Michelangelo would last till darkness fell and we'd be able to leave this cold prison of ours.

Maybe then I could get him to April's. I had left some stuff at her place, in case of an emergency, and with her help I might actually be able to put him back together... if he lasted that long.

The thought of April made me remember something else. Instinctively moving my hand down to my felt, I was surprised to find that it was still there.

My cell phone.

Whilst still holding on to Mikey, I pulled it up and flipped it open, the green display providing me with light I hadn't seen for hours. Squeezing my unaccustomed eyes, I instantly opened my phonebook where April's two phone numbers stood right at the top of the short list.

_April cell._

_April home._

I debated which one to try first and decided it was best to call her cell. She always had her cell phone on, and she always answered when you called. I couldn't recall a single time she hadn't picked up.

But just when I was about to push the green button for 'dial', something inside of me stopped me.

It was probably our only chance. A while longer in this hell and Mikey risked bleeding to death. If I could only get my hands on the proper equipment he would at least have a shot at survival, but...

But what about April?

For as long as the city still glowed with light and life, Mikey and I were stuck down here. Could I really ask her to come down here when I knew for a fact that some of those trigger-happy bastards were still alive? Searching these tunnels right at this very moment. It was like asking her to join us in the car as it sank to the bottom of the sea.

The sound of my sniffles echoed in the tunnels, and the artificial green light coming from the tiny display finally went out, once again leaving me in complete darkness.

I loved Mikey more than anything and would give my life to save him, but I couldn't ask April to do the same thing. I know I wouldn't have to. The minute I'd tell her what had happened, both she and Casey would go down the first manhole in sight.

And so that was why I on pure will swallowed the tears that tore at my throat and finally flipped the phone shut. The echo of it lingered behind like a stabbing reminder of my fatal decision. I felt like I'd sentenced my little brother to death – my own flesh and blood – burning up in my arms, completely oblivious to me making this decision over his head. But I just couldn't do it. I couldn't put my friends at risk, even at the possibility of saving Mikey's life.

I couldn't.

Still sniffling, I slid the phone back down my belt and twisted slightly, my shell making an awkward sound as it scraped against the brick wall. I adjusted my hold on Mike and slowly leaned down to plant a careful, apologizing kiss on top of his head, a kiss that tasted of blood, tears and warmth.

I didn't know what was going to happen next, but what I did know was that no matter what it was, I wouldn't leave him. He was all I had left and for me to let go of him, someone would physically have to pry my cold, dead fingers off of him.

I wasn't leaving.

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"Raph? Raph, no... No, stay there. No..." 

I mournfully held him closer, feeling his fragile body shake in my arms. He'd been talking like this for some time, and, strange as it was, his voice had become more lucid with time's passing. At first I'd thought he believed _I_ was Raph, but the more I listened the more I realized he wasn't even here to know someone was holding him.

"No, don't... Raph... Raph! Don't do it..."

He was someplace else. Someplace where Raphael was in danger, and he seemed unable to help him. His feverish pleas sounded so helpless, like he was talking to a person who couldn't even hear him.

"He's behind you… Behind you, Raph… He's behin..."

"Schhh..." I softly hushed him, holding him closer, willing for the power to protect him from this never-ending nightmare. "It's okay. There's no one there."

"Raph...? Raph, look out...You need to... Behind you..."

He was panting for air between every other word, yet he just wouldn't stop talking. No matter what I did, he only seemed to have one thing on his mind.

"You're just dreaming, Mikey. It's just a dream. It'll go away if you just wake up."

"Behind you, Raph!"

He twisted violently in my arms, partially because of his wounds and fever, but mostly because of the effect the dream had on him. It was tearing him apart and I couldn't do a single thing to stop it.

"Watch out... He's got a gun... He's got a… Raph... behind you..."

"Mike--"

"Raph, look out! Behind you!"

Helpless tears twisted my features, and I held him as close as I possibly could, but the more he squirmed the further I felt he was slipping, no matter how tight I held him. It was like he was slipping right through my very hands.

"Mikey... Bro, you need to wake up. It's just a dr--"

"No! No, Raph! No... Don't..."

I could barely speak through my tears, and I buried my face in the small dent of his left temple, praying for the insanity to stop. Praying for my brother to come back to me. "Mikey, you need to wake up for me. It's just a dream, it'll--"

"Raph? _No!_ Raph!"

"You need to wake up. You need to... Please wake up," I pleadingly whispered.

But just like Raph seemed unable to hear him in his dream, Mikey was unable to hear me. He was panting so hard, and what had once been him twisting and turning in protest had now turned into feverish shudders, completely out of anyone's control. His breath was rugged and shallow, and I could feel his entire body cramp up in my arms. The tears I'd been left alone with came harder, louder, and I buried my face deeper in his temple, where I was actually able to hear his teeth as they clattered uncontrollably against each other.

"Raph..."

Holding onto his head with my right hand, tenderly cupping his left cheek as I held him against my own face, I did my best to ease my tears, hoping that my calm would somehow calm him. "It's okay, Mikey. It's okay. Just... just relax." It was so hard to silent my tears when I knew what was happening; when I knew the only thing left for me to do for him was to hold him. "I'm right here."

"Raph... Raph, no..."

"It's okay," I uttered weakly through my tears. "I'm here. You're doing great, Mikey. You're doing great... I'm so proud of you. Just relax and everything'll... Everything'll be fine. Just relax."

"Raph... Ra…Rah..."

Constantly caressing his cheek with my thumb, I remained focused on talking to him, calming him. I tried not to think about the long seconds that would pass between each of his breaths, I tried not to think about the fact that his body barely even shook anymore, and I tried not to think about the teeth that no longer clattered. Even the obsessive murmurs of Raph's name had stopped, but I tried not to think about any of that.

"You're doing great, Mikey. You've been so good. So good... Just relax and it'll be fine. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here. Right here..."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **_Didn't take me as long this time, did it? I wasn't really sure if I should post this or not. I'm not really pleased with how this chapter turned out, but no matter how I twist and turn I still end up with the same thing. So I'm posting. Hope ya like it. I wanna thank those of you who reviewed. I was so happy. As things are now, they really do keep my muse breathing. I'll post my responses to them later, at Stealthy Stories. But now I have to have dinner. Actually, I'm already running late but I just had to post this before anything else.Till next time!_

* * *

**Chapter 6**

"You're doing great. I'm right here, bro. Just relax... You're doing great."

I didn't know for how long I'd been repeating these words to him, but it felt like it had been a while; softly rocking him back and forth, occasionally caressing his cheek with my thumb, protectively cradling his sapless form in my aching embrace. His head felt so heavy in my arms, especially with one of them weakened by the bullet wound, but I needed him close; I needed to feel my own cheek pressed down against his temple.

I needed _him_. More than anything, I needed him.

Everything was quiet now... so quiet. The panic was gone, and peace had settled. Even my tears had gone mute. They were still there, constantly trailing down my swollen face, but none of them made a sound. In fact, the only thing accompanying me in the blackness was the sound of my own voice, and even though it was aimed at Mike, I think it calmed me, too. I knew they were just words, but saying them enough number of times almost made me believe them. At least we were still together. His hallucinations had long since ceased, and he'd even stopped shaking. He lay so peacefully in my arms as I rocked him, my little brother, back and forth... back and forth.

So quiet.

I carefully lifted my face from his head to have a look at him, my tears sticking my itchy skin to his. It was only proof that we'd been locked in this position for quite some time. Grimacing when using my left arm, I realized some of the blood around my wound had dried, as it appeared stuck to Mikey's left shoulder.

Indeed, we must have been like this for a while.

The sore joints in my legs and back resisted hurtfully to my movement and I couldn't help but grunt in pain, but I tried my best to ignore that and worked on adjusting a surprisingly heavy Michelangelo into a position where his shell was lying in my lap, and he was facing up. His head was completely limp, where it hung lifelessly over my lower right arm, and even in the darkness I could tell that his face was clean of any emotion. The mask of anguish that had been dressing his features ever since all of this began was finally gone; if anything, he looked peaceful.

"Mikey..." I weakly spoke up, trying to lift him into a sitting position so I could get a closer look at him. He was heavy, and every muscle in my body burned in protest, but I needed to feel him against my plastron. I needed to cradle him in my arms, no matter how much it hurt. Having finally moved him into an upright position, I watched his head powerlessly loll to one shoulder, his face almost burying itself into my chest.

"Mike?" I gently called his name a second time, letting go of him with my left hand so I could use it to have him face me. It hurt like hell using that arm, but Mikey never even moved a muscle; he still had that neutral look on his face, and it was honestly starting to unnerve me.

He was shot in both his leg and shoulder. Movement should have harmed him; even while unconscious it should've pained him.

"Mikey," I tried speaking up louder, carefully studying his features for any reaction.His lips were sealed and his eyes remained closed, and I couldn't help but respond to the unfamiliar image of his face being stripped of his trademark orange mask, but there was no movement, not so much as a twitch. "Mikey," I called again, this time more demanding, my left hand hesitantly cupping his cheek.

I tried gently shaking him, but his head only rolled over to rest on his left shoulder again. Then, looking at his chest, I suddenly realized it wasn't moving, and I felt my left hand starting to shake.

_No..._

"Mikey!" I shook him a second time, only now more violent than before, desperate. His head only moved flaccidly at the action, and as soon as I stopped, it once again fell face first onto my chest.

I felt my throat clamming up, and it was getting harder to breathe, almost to the point where I felt like I would choke on my own tears. The panic seemed to travel with the speed of light throughout the rest of my body, my chest in particular where it felt as though my heart was trying to pound its way right through the plates of my plastron. If I hadn't known any better, I would have almost thought I was having a heart attack.

But I knew.

I didn't want to believe it, because I could not take sitting here alone, but he'd been quiet for so long. I had thought he was finally rid of that horrible dream, but now...

_Oh, god. Please no_.

"...Mikey?" I desperately managed to utter, my tears strangling my vocal chords so hard I could barely even whisper his name. But my little brother remained unchanged and I couldn't help but suck in a loud sob in despair, feeling my chest swell up with stinging air that seemed made especially for me, especially for this moment.

Everything about anything was painful.

I didn't want to do it. I didn't want find out, but deep inside I knew it was the only way to be sure, and so I apprehensively lifted my left hand from where it rested on his plastron. It was still shaking, even more so now than it had before, and even as I pressed the tip of my fingers to his throat it wouldn't stop.

Holding my breath, I waited for something I knew would never come; yet I kept my fingers pressed to his skin, as if stubbornness would somehow magically summon a pulse. But my fingertips remained untouched, and in the time of not blinking my eyes quickly welled up with tears till I could barely see anything at all.

Finally, I was forced to let go, and as soon as my fingers left the clammy texture of his skin, the tears I had trapped all came tumbling at once. My sobs took over my body completely, where I felt both my stomach and lungs cramping in hysteria, and with desperate arms gathering the limp body, I held him longingly to my chest. I buried my heated face in soft dent of his neck, which was soon flooded with my tears, the salty taste of them invading my mouth. Then, grabbing a tighter hold around his shell with my left arm, I brokenheartedly started rocking him back and forth, just like I had when he'd been hallucinating.

It was as if the very last shard of my heart had been smashed, and I couldn't believe the cruelty of it.

The only damn thing I had left in this world was gone.

* * *

I wasn't really sure when it had happened; I'd kept myself busy talking to him, rocking him back and forth in an attempt to calm him, but I knew it had.

Somewhere between then and now, he'd just... let go.

I felt his heavy body in my arms, weighing down on legs I could barely even acknowledge, and I could still smell his blood and sweat, but my brother wasn't there anymore. The person I was holding was nothing but a body, a broken body he'd left behind for me to cry over. Like the rest of them, he was gone. Dead. He'd just passed away in my arms – without my knowledge – and it didn't matter how many tears I'd shed on him, he wasn't coming back. But even in spite of this, I just couldn't bring myself to let go of him. Alive or not, he was still my little brother.

I'd grown up with him. I'd been there to put band-aids on his scratches whenever he got hurt, and I'd always been the one to comfort him whenever Raph said something he hadn't really meant. I'd been there to fall victim for several of his cheap pranks, and I hadn't even paid him back once for it. And I could still hear his senseless, nonstop talking at night, back when the two of us shared a room as kids. The things he said were completely random and utterly pointless, but I always kept myself awake to listen to him, no matter how tired I was. It wasn't that he had anything important to say; he just wanted to talk.

He just wanted company.

I knew holding onto his dead body didn't qualify as company, but I still loved him... and I couldn't bear the thought of leaving him. Sadly, it was the only thing I had left of my family. It was just me now. The only remaining member of my family – of my _kind_. What would I do? Where would I go? Even if I could gather enough strength to get up and walk out of here, was I supposed to just leave him? Alone in the sewers, utterly abandoned to be found by god knows what. What if those bastards found him? What would they do to him? They didn't carry that camera for nothing.

No. No, I couldn't leave him. I didn't want to. They were all gone now, and, pathetic as it may have been, I just didn't have the strength to go on without them. I'd told him I wouldn't go anywhere, and I wasn't planning on breaking that promise. Besides, I was way too tired to leave. I didn't know if it was because of the crying, the running, or what, but I was completely exhausted. I sat with my head leaned back against the cold wall behind me, yet it still felt heavy. Even the act of keeping my eyes open was a challenge. Not that it mattered, because I couldn't see anything in these pitch-black tunnels anyway.

Every single fiber of my being was tired. My legs were tired from running, my heart was tired from loss, my head was tired from crying, and perhaps most of all my body was tired from bleeding. I hadn't done a single thing to treat my wound. For all I knew it could have rotted a hole right through my flesh. Although, strange as it was, it didn't hurt as much anymore. Not that I couldn't feel the pain, it was very much still there, open and bleeding, but it was different now. It was dull. Just like the feeling in my head – dull.

As I sat there in the darkness, my back up against the unmerciful tunnel wall, holding my brother's corpse curled up in my lap, I realized how much colder things had gotten. My arms and legs lay stiff on the cold, wet ground – utterly useless, and everything around me was quiet. My tears had stopped, and even the ever-present sound coming from the pipes seemed fainter somehow. It was as if the entire world had stopped functioning with his death.

Time and place didn't really seem to exist at all anymore; it was as though everything had floated together into this big, consuming essence of unimportantness. Who knew? Perhaps night had already come and gone while I'd been sitting here? Perhaps those psychopaths had killed each other in a random fit of insanity? They sure seemed capable of it. They would have even been doing the world a favor.

I honestly had no idea.

The only thing I had been certain of had been taken from me, and not suddenly like with the rest of my family. No, it had been a slow, detailed process, just so I wouldn't miss anything. But even in spite of that, I still couldn't believe he was gone. It felt like it had only been a minute ago when he'd been complaining about that no good flashlight of his. I had told him it was kid's toy, and that he shouldn't have such big expectations, but he'd only insisted it should've done better.

'I expected more from Batman,' he'd said.

God, I would have given anything to hear his voice again. Of course, I missed the others, too, but with Mikey...

With Mikey I'd been given a chance to at least _fight_ for his life. I had literally pushed him out the window of our bathroom carriage, dragged him through the cold tunnels and forced him to keep walking on a leg that couldn't. I'd tied his wounds and cradled his feverish body, only to lose him in the end.

It felt so futile, so pointless, so... unfair.

What was the point of it all? Were we all just meant to die? Was I meant to sit here in the darkness and slowly bleed to death like he had?

I honestly didn't care anymore. I was too tired to even attempt it.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **_Thank you so much for your reviews on the previous chapter. They mean the world to me, each and everyone of them. Review responses can soon be found at my author forum at Stealthy Stories, so stay on the lookout for that. As for this chapter, well, I wrote it all very fast so there may very well be some mistakes here and there. Anyway, I'm just glad to be writing again. I hope you like it, and if things seem confusing, it will most likely clear up by next chapter. Enjoy. _

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**Chapter 7**

_Slowly stirring in the pot with the spoon, almost as if in tune with the soft music coming from the small radio that stood on the far side of the kitchen table, I caught the hot, delicious scent of beef and pepper as it rose from the boiling water._

_And they said I couldn't cook._

_I would be the first to admit that I was no Mike in the kitchen, but I could definitely handle myself by the stove. I was a decent cook, but all it took to forever ruin my good name was that one burned pot of pasta._

_Mikey had said ruining something as simple as pasta was like killing off a cactus. So typical of him to exaggerate._

_"It smells wonderful."_

_"Thank you," I said, turning around with a grateful smile to face my master where he sat by the dining table, all the china set out before him. "You don't think it's too much pepper?"_

_"Certainly not, my son," he kindly answered with a warm gaze. "It smells perfect. I would not worry about what your brothers will say."_

_I couldn't help but smile to myself as I turned back to face the stove. He always knew my insecurities, no matter how well I thought I hid them, and somehow he always seemed able to soothe them. Yet the truth remained the same, for even if the others ended up liking this, they would never admit it to my face. I could imagine Raph saying something like 'Well, it didn't taste like ass.' But that would be the furthest any of them would go to compliment my cooking._

_The familiar sound of iron shaking beneath footsteps came from outside where the others came climbing down the entrance ladder, and out of the corner of my right eye I noticed my master straightening up at the same recognition._

_"That was fast of them," I commented briefly over my shoulder._

_"Hmm," he replied, gracefully rising from his chair. "It must have been a false alarm then."_

_"Must have," I agreed, nodding to myself in relief. I hadn't really expected anything else, because Donatello seemed very sure of his thing, but it was nice to have it officially confirmed._

_"I'll let them know lunch is almost ready," he said, reaching for his cane that stood leaned against the kitchen table before walking towards the open door of the sub car._

_"Good idea," I told him, nodding once at him in approval before my eyes returned to stare at the task at hand. I had to admit they had awfully good timing. The beef was as cooked as it was going to get, so I turned off the stove and proceeded to set the pot on its coaster on the kitchen counter to my left. I stirred the spoon a few extra times before gently lifting it to my lips – making sure not to spill anything – to have one last taste before serving it to my impossible to impress siblings._

_It was almost painfully hot, and I couldn't help but grimace in annoyance. Maybe I used too much pepper after all. It wasn't that big a deal, but I had my suspicions it was enough for my brothers to point it out to me._

_Interrupting my thoughts was a soft thud, one I didn't pay much attention, considering how often Michelangelo came jumping down that ladder instead of climbing it like the rest of us. He loved showing off._

_"Don, how'd it go?" I called out to them, not turning around but still focused on stirring with the spoon as if the strong pepper taste would somehow diminish with the act. Oddly, there came no answer, or even the smallest of sounds to confirm their return. "Guys?" Waiting another few seconds only to hear nothing but the lyrics from the familiar song that was faintly played on the radio, I rested the spoon against the circle-shaped edge of the steaming pot and parted lips that still tasted of pepper to speak up louder, "Don?"_

_I finally decided to go and see just what they were doing out there and turned around to leave the kitchen, but the moment my face was turned to the main platform I felt my breath abruptly choking in my throat._

_I could spot his motionless legs lying on the floor – feet up – in frighteningly perfect view of the doorway._

_**Oh my god!**_

_"Sensei!" I quickly hurried over to him, my head plagued by words such as 'heart attack' and 'seizure'. He might have been in exceptional shape, but it didn't change the fact that he was an old man, and stress was certainly something that barged in on our lives on an everyday basis._

_Reaching up to the door, however, my train of thought quickly took a completely different direction when I was able to see the full view of him._

_There was a tiny hole embedded in the center of his forehead, right above his wide open eyes, and a fresh trail of thick blood seeped out from it with a vitality I instantly knew was no more._

_A bullet wound._

_Before I even had the smallest chance to react to the shocking tragedy, the pelting sound of gunshots coming at me from my left forced me to dive back inside the safety of the kitchen sub car._

_I slammed my shell up against the wall by the doorway with a metallic bang, trying to grasp a single rational thought in the chaos and loss that had taken over my mind. Anguish, fear and panic had so quickly surfaced out of thin air, the adrenalin almost felt like an overdose as it coursed through my veins._

_Intruders – gunmen – right in our very home. We were under attack and I just couldn't believe it. And Sensei..._

_I didn't dare myself another look at the body I knew was still lying just around the corner, and I closed my eyes in stubbornness, as if my sheer will would somehow put things back to a world that still made sense. But then everything changed, and what was already a catastrophe immediately took a turn for the worse._

_"The fuck? MASTA' SPLINTA'!"_

_"Raph, no!" I instantly turned around to find my red-masked brother running up to our father's murdered body. "Stay in your room!" His sub car across the platform was unfortunately in perfect view of Sensei's body, and I prepared myself for the heart-wrenching image of having to witness my brother being barraged with bullets right in the middle of our living room._

_Before he reached all the way up to Sensei, however, he spotted the ones guilty for his death and his priorities quickly changed as he lunged himself at them with a speed I had only up until then seen Michelangelo travel in. He'd always been the fastest of the four of us, and it suited him just fine on the many times he was forced to run away from a pissed off Raphael. But it seemed Raph had only needed a reason to tap into that extra source of energy, and these cold-blooded killers had provided him with just that._

_"Raph, no! Don't!" I screamed till my voice cracked in my throat, but I was yelling to deaf ears. He probably wasn't even aware of my presence. Bloody vengeance was the only thing on his mind, as he ran furiously with both his sai obsessively clutched in his hands._

_A few uneven gunshots were fired, but it didn't stop him from sprinting toward them where they stood right by the stairway that led down to the main platform. I didn't know if he'd been spared their bullets or if there was simply enough adrenalin for him to keep running in spite on them._

_I prayed it was the former._

_Though at least one of them must have missed him, for while standing there in helplessness I suddenly felt an explosive pain force itself into my right shoulder with the purest of fires._

_I immediately dove back inside the kitchen, once again locking my back to the wall, instinctively clasping the fresh wound with my left hand. The thick, warm blood quickly welled up between my fingers; it was as though I could feel the vessels pumping my life right into the palm of my hand._

_Outside, I could hear something crash to the ground with a loud thud, an endless agonizing scream following shortly thereafter. Knowing Raph, I had good reason to believe it was because of him. He must have attacked one of the intruders, and I could only imagine what he was doing to him to make him cry like that. It was the kind of cry that could only come from those on the brink of death. By all means, he should have been dead, but it was as if the pain alone kept him alive – screaming._

_Above that, I could hear the others shouting at each other in panic, one of them continuously going, "Shoot him! Shoot him!"_

_With tears forcing their way up my tight throat, I could only assume he was talking about Raph. I couldn't understand why they hadn't just shot him already, but before I could even consider their reasons for wanting to spare him a time-stopping gunshot was suddenly fired._

_Their panicking voices ceased immediately and the man's screams changed, transforming into wails of tears and suffering, until another bullet finally silenced that as well._

_The only thing left was the faint sound of the radio that was still playing, accompanying me in my torment.  
_

_Closing my burning eyes in agony, I felt my tears trying to fight their way past my eyelids. He was dead. My brother – Raphael – shot like a dog. One moment he was fighting with a passion I had never seen in him before, almost as if the loss of our father had made him invincible, and then as soon as that bullet was fired everything just changed. I had watched him run straight into the arms of death, and there hadn't been a single thing I could do to stop him._

_He was gone._

_With my shell still pressed to the wall, I felt my legs slowly being drained of their strength, and I helplessly slid down to the floor, still clutching my bleeding shoulder in desperation._

_I knew they were coming for me next. My katana were in my room, hanging on their rightful place on the wall. There was no way I could defend myself against them, much less with my newly inflicted injury. I realized then to my hollow surprise that I didn't care. Within a minute, they'd shot and killed two of my family members._

_Everything had lost its meaning._

_With a piercing thought I suddenly felt my splintered heart swell up with hope. I hurriedly dug for my cell phone in my belt, remembering Mike and Donnie. I didn't know if they were already dead, but at least there was a chance for me to warn them. But fumbling desperately by my belt with flashes of pain shooting up my right arm, I just couldn't find it._

_It had to be there. I had to warn them. I had to talk to them. Were they still alive, they simply couldn't come home._

_But I was soon forced to accept that it wasn't in my power to save them. My cell phone wasn't on me, and I brokenly recalled hooking it up to its charger in my room last night before going to bed._

_It seemed as though fate had conspired against me and stripped me of any possibility to fight this._

_I could feel the burning pain in my heart gradually transform into a black hole of some sorts, leaving me with a gaping nothingness in my chest. This was it. I heard their booted footsteps walking up to the kitchen sub car, and, looking over my left shoulder, I could see my father's corpse bleeding on the floor. The blood on his forehead had soaked his coat, leaving a dark, sticky mess of fur on his head, and his eyes were still facing the ceiling in a frozen fear he'd never had the chance to express._

_**So this is how it ends...**_

_They were right behind me now, and they knew perfectly well where I was, almost dragging their feet to prolong the wait. My only wish was that it was quick. I only wanted them to get it over with._

_Tiredly turning my pulsating head to my left, I caught one of them looking at me through the doorway. Dressed in black clothing and a bulletproof vest to match, he wore a black ski mask over his face, but I could tell his face held an expression of fascination and hunger. Pointing at me with a firm grip, there was a small, black gun in his hand, a long muffler attached to its barrel._

_It must have been what kept me from hearing the bullet that killed Sensei._

_Taking a cautious step inside the kitchen, making sure he was pointing his pistol at me the whole time, another guy stepped into view. His outfit was identical to that of his friend's, aside from the fact that he carried a much larger weapon in his arms. It could only assume it was the same automatic weapon they'd killed Raph with._

_Breathing heavily, I parted lips that left a salty aftertaste and looked up to meet the stare of the first guy. "What are you waiting for?" I asked him lazily. "Just do it already."_

_He chuckled briefly to himself, never once breaking my stare. "I don't think so, freak."_

_Swallowing once, I grimaced when trying to adjust myself into a more upright position, noticing their weapons cautiously following my every move. I then returned my firm gaze to meet his, once again parting my lips to speak._

_"Kill me – or I'll kill you."_

_Exchanging a quick glance with his friend, the two of them started laughing; a throaty, mocking sound that rang bitterly in my ears._

_"I don't think you're fit to hand out threats," he then said, pointing to the bleeding wound in my shoulder with the dramatically long barrel of his gun._

_Feeling my hatred transform itself into almost forgotten strength at his words, I released a furious cry when throwing myself at him. But the second I'd gotten up from the floor, a blinding pain suddenly erupted in my knee, causing me to collapse heavily to the floor, both my legs folded beneath my painful weight._

_Opening my eyes, I realized he'd shot me straight through my kneepad and splintered my right kneecap, and the torment of it blocked out the old wound completely. I couldn't help but groan through gritted teeth, both my hands pressed to the wound as if it would somehow lessen my suffering._

_With my breath hissing through my teeth, I lifted my head to meet his sadistic stare._

_"What do you want?" I yelled through my tears. "Why not just kill me?"_

_As if answering my question, I noticed something moving in the corner of my left eye, and turning around, I witnessed a third guy stepping into view. He was dressed just like the rest of them: a black out fit with a bulletproof vest protecting his torso. But, looking closer, I noticed a terrifying difference. Because unlike his friends, he wasn't armed with a weapon, but a small camcorder, pointed straight at me with a tiny red light letting me know I was being filmed._

_Suddenly, I felt very relieved on behalf of the others. A bullet was all it took to put out their lives. _


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **_I know I JUST posted Chapter 7, and I wasn't really sure if I should wait a few days till sharing this one with you guys, but you know what? I saw no reason to sit on this chappie like some sadistic, powercrazed megalomaniac. If **I **had been the reader, I would have wanted the author to post, even if it only had been a day - so I'm posting. Heh. I just finished typing up the review responses for Chapter 6, but I guess I'll have to go back there and add to it. Later, though, cuz it's movie time. But I hope you'll enjoy this new installment, where there won't be a whole lot more of them. Thanks in advance._

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**Chapter 8**

Swimming, pounding... all my thoughts and feelings felt like they'd been locked inside a centrifuge, only to be returned to my mind in a big jumbled mess where it was just about impossible to separate reality from imagination. It wasn't until discovering I was sitting with my face leaned on Mikey's still head that I realized I was in the process of waking up. It was strange, though, because I didn't recall falling asleep. Had I been out this whole time?

It didn't take long for the images to return, the feeling of complete loss and hopelessness stirring inside of me as I sat there with my shell against the kitchen wall. But wait? It hadn't been _me_ sitting in that sub car. It hadn't been me getting shot in the knee...

It was Leo.

But _how_? I didn't understand. I'd seen it all with my own eyes. Had it all been a dream? Was it the wound eating away at the flesh around my shoulder blade that had summoned everything? It had felt so real, so... graphic. I'd felt Leo's anguish, I'd lived his thoughts and I'd cried at his pain. It didn't make any sense, because it made _too_ much sense to be nothing but my imagination.

Was I losing my mind? Was I hallucinating just like Mikey had before he...

Trying tiredly to move my stiff legs, a shot of ice-cold pain went up them, sending a sharp shiver all the way up to my neck. I was so cold. It seemed my body had surrendered completely to the fever while I'd been out. Even Mike felt cold in my arms. But then again, it must have been awhile, so why wouldn't he? He was dead.

How weird it felt thinking it. Dead – my littler brother, who'd always been so full of life and energy – no longer living.

Gone forever.

I tiredly leaned my head against the cold, slippery tunnel wall behind me, my eyes gradually getting used to the blackness, shapes and forms slowly starting to build a world of darkness for me to live in. My heavy thoughts soon drifted back to that dream, and remembering the events of it, I realized how perfectly well all the details of it fit with my discovery upon returning home.

Splinter's body, the entering hole of the bullet that had killed Raph... even that corpse on the bathroom floor. Raphael _had_ mutilated him; there was no other explanation for it. They'd put a bullet in Raph's neck to stop him, and then another one in their friend's head to put him out of his gruesome misery.

And then there was Leo.

_Oh god, Leo..._

Was he still alive? Was this his way of telling me he needed saving? Or maybe it was just his way of filling me in on the missing half of the story. Could he really be sending me this dream beyond the grave? Somehow managed to reach out to me in this hazy state between life and death. And... had he done the same thing with Mikey, or was that Raph's doing?

My thoughts were spinning out of control. So desperate for answers, none of my theories made any sense.

Leonardo was dead – they all were – and this was just my mind trying to make some kind of sense of it. My time must have been running out, and I was quite literally losing my mind – the only damn thing I had left to keep me company.

I couldn't help but laugh in spite of myself; how utterly stupid this whole day had been.

The security alarm going off... armed strangers breaking into the lair and killing everyone in our brief absence? They had come out of nowhere with their guns and their camera. Who the hell were they? Why couldn't I stop them? Why couldn't we... why hadn't we stood a chance against them? It was as though we'd all been set up to die – a horrible, grisly, heartbreaking death. Right from the very moment we got out of our beds this morning, everything had unstoppably led up to me sitting here with Mikey's cold body in my lap, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of it.

It was just too unbelievable to make something like this up, yet it was too inconceivable to be real.

And the analyst in me couldn't help but dwell on that damn motion detector. I'd been so sure it was just the batteries – and it _was_. They'd been completely dead when we got there, and everything flawlessly kicked back up the moment I put in new ones. Could it have been that the alarm in fact _did_ go off, only for the batteries to run out mere seconds after having set it off, leaving us to believe it was just a false alarm?

It did seem very coincidental; that the batteries would run out the one and only time the alarm _did_ go off. But like I mentioned, everything about this whole tragedy was just too unlikely to make sense, so it didn't really surprise me.

Maybe it was fate, then; a cruel, unmerciful fate. Or perhaps there was no reason at all for this. It just... was.

It didn't bring me much comfort, but it spared me the energy of trying to make sense of something that couldn't.

Parting my lips, I felt them stubbornly sticking together. My mouth was so dry, and my breath felt like sandpaper forcing itself up my throat. How long had it been since I last had something to drink, anyway? Breakfast had been hours and hours ago. God, I was _so_ thirsty. It felt kind of ironic, sitting in the sewers, cold water all around me, yet I couldn't even taste it. We had all seen how sick Mikey had gotten when he'd done it as a kid. He threw up like a pig, and Master Splinter had him in bed for days. I remembered how he would constantly lecture the rest of us about it, saying:

'See what happens when you drink the tunnel water?'

He'd been so worried for Mikey, and even though we couldn't have been more than… what, five or six? We still picked up on that worry. We sensed the danger he was in, and neither of us had any plans on tasting the forbidden fruit.

Even now, where I knew I was going to bleed to death anyway, unless those trigger-happy idiots found me first of course, I wouldn't consider drinking it.

Water bad. Water hurt Mikey.

It was a simple as that.

It must have been sometime around then that the three of us started looking out for Michelangelo as obsessively as we did. It wasn't that he was weaker than the rest of us – certainly not. He could hold his own any day of the week. In fact, he was probably the only one who dared to stand up to Sensei. Or perhaps he was the only one Sensei would let off the hook, all because of those puppy dog eyes of his. No, our reason for worrying about Mike as much as we did was his... lack of judgment.

Mikey was... he'd been the kind of person that acted on his emotions, much like Raph though in a lot less violent way, and a bit more stupid. His decisions weren't always the safest ever made, and sometimes he seemed completely oblivious to that.

I remembered this one time. We must have been around ten, I think, and like we oftentimes did when Master Splinter was out scavenging the city streets for food and useful stuff for our home, we'd left the lair to explore the nearby tunnels. Or so we'd told Leo, anyway. He had seemed OK with the idea of us playing right outside, and so we simply told him what he wanted to hear.

In truth, we went off a bit farther than just "right outside."

Mikey had wanted to try out some new stunts on his skateboard, and even though I wasn't nearly as skilled as he was, it seemed like a fun idea. I might not have been as good as Michelangelo, but I still loved riding on my board. Plus, it was something the two of us would always do together.

Leonardo and Raphael would fight, and Mikey and I went skateboarding; it was kind of our thing.

Anyway... We stopped when we reached this perfect little three-way tunnel crossing. There was hardly any water there, and it was right beneath the streets, so there was just enough light slipping through the storm drains for us to see what we were doing.

We started out riding up and down the perfectly concave walls, laughing and joking off, daring each other to go higher up the wall until we had both touched the ceiling of the tunnel with our hands.

Then of course Mikey, who was always up for a senseless challenge, thought of the brilliant idea to skate on the big, rusty pipes attached to the side of the tunnels. I was skeptical of his suggestion, to say the least, but having watched him do it so effortlessly, I soon found myself riding my board across that noisy pipe, landing on the tunnel floor with an exhilarating, screeching hit.

Eventually, Mikey got tired of that as well, but I was too busy having fun to notice him eyeing that upper pipe, attached dangerously close to the ceiling of the tunnel. I recalled his sudden voice interrupting me riding across the pipe, shouting,

'Hey, Donnie. Check this out!'

Looking up, I found him standing on one end of the pipe, his skateboard facing the crossing of the tunnel, and before I could do anything to stop him, he just kicked himself off with his right foot.

I could still remember the rusty metallic noise vibrating in my ears as he rode across that pipe, the most blissful of smiles lighting up his young, ignorant features. I remembered thinking something like: 'Oh no, he didn't,' as I watched him ride towards the end of the pipe.

The next thing I knew, the both of us hit the ground with our skateboards, me still balancing on top of mine while Mikey painfully fell off of his at the collision with the hard, brick clad floor. His skateboard just continued without him down the tunnel, and I quickly jumped off of mine to have a look at my motionless brother.

He was lying on his shell with his eyes closed, and there was a big nasty bruise covering the entire right side of his face. At first, I thought he was dead; I really did. The fall had been so high and so _hard_, I just didn't think it was possible to survive it, but upon cradling his mumbling form in my arms, I realized he was merely unconscious.

I may not have been older than ten, but I definitely recognized a concussion when I saw one. We'd all suffered concussions due to accidents in the dojo, but none as serious as the one Mikey earned himself in that insane stunt of his.

Calling his name, I managed to get him to open his eyes, and remembering how Master Splinter had cared for us, I made it my mission to keep him awake. I told him it was time for us to go home, and when helping him into a sitting position I had to steady the back of his head, feeling his blood smear across my palm at my touch.

I had wanted to panic then. I wanted to cry and scream and just lose my mind till Master Splinter would come and make it all better. There was lots of warm blood on my hand, and Mikey couldn't even sit up by himself, his eyes swaying back and forth in disorientation.

I knew I had to get him home as soon as I possibly could.

And even though he weighed more than I did back then, I somehow managed to pick him up in my arms and carry him down the tunnel, leaving both our skateboards on the scene of the crime. I couldn't care less about them, favorite toy or not.

He was so heavy. Even now, in my foggy existence of numbness, I could still recall the feeling of my legs wanting to fold to the weight, shaking violently with each draining step I took, yet I somehow managed to carry him all the way back to the lair, not even stopping once to rest.

Luckily, Sensei was already home by the time we came stumbling through the door, and he knew exactly what to do. It hadn't been as bad as I'd feared. It was a concussion, but after closing up the wound in the back of his skull with some stitches and making sure Mikey stayed in bed for a few days, he was back to his normal, risk-ignorant self.

You couldn't really blame us for looking after Mikey the way we did, yet the older we got the more he despised it. He wasn't any more of a kid than the rest of us, and he hated being treated like one. But, looking at his lifeless body now, I only regretted not looking after him better.

That deep, jungle green color of his skin had been replaced with a sickly pale tone of it, beads of sweat still covering his cold body. The cloths around his right arm and thigh were all dried up with his blood, and his head rested heavily on my plastron, his pale lips frozen in a peaceful line only the deepest of sleep could be responsible for.

He was so innocent, so full of life and possibility. He shouldn't have died. He shouldn't have been _allowed_ to die. I almost felt a bit relived for the others' sake, because I seriously doubted any of them would have wanted to trade places with me, having to watch our sweet Mikey slowly surrender to the death that had claimed everyone else.

I missed him so much already.

As unbearable as it had been having to go on after discovering the others back at the lair, it had somehow seemed less horrible when he'd still been around to keep me company, to keep me focused. I just couldn't believe I'd never get to see him smile again. Never again would I hear that belly-tickling laughter of his. Never again would I walk passed the bathroom sub car, only to realize he was in there, singing 'Oh, Happy Days' to himself while taking a dump.

Never again. They had seen to that. They had taken him away from me; just like they had taken everything else I cared about.

Swallowing once, I realized to my dull surprise that the burning sensation in my throat was gone, and I didn't feel cold anymore. My head didn't pound and my chest didn't ache. If anything, I felt strangely weightless, as though all my thoughts were floating drunkenly in my mind.

This must have been it, then. My senses were all fading, so it must have meant it was finally my time to go. Closing my eyes in exhaustion, I suddenly realized I still had some of my senses left.

It was very foggy, so faint and still so distant, but I could definitely hear footsteps coming from down one of the tunnels. They didn't move fast, it was as if someone was promenading in peace, nearly dragging their feet through the water. Still so far away, but it was there.

I opened my heavy eyelids, knowing exactly who to expect.

It didn't bother me.

But it did inspire me to move. Sluggish, heavy arms gathered Mikey's stiff body, holding him protectively to my chest. It was weird, because I knew there was nothing left for me to shield. He was already dead; they couldn't harm him anymore than they already had, but it was the only thing I had left to protect. It was something for me to hold on to, and, trying to sit up straight, I promised myself that no matter what happened now, I wouldn't let them come near my little brother. They had put him through so much pain, so much heartache, he deserved to rest.

He had paid with his family, his innocence – his life. All that was left for me to do was to make sure he got his peace.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **_I'll try to keep this short, because I'm just really eager to post this. It's been far too long. Okay, first of all: Thank you all so much for reviewing, I'll post my responses later at my author forum at Stealthy Stories. If you can't find your way there, just ask. Second of all? This is the final chapter of this story, and there may or may not be a sequel. Heh. I couldn't decide so I just decided not to decide. Anyway, this particular genre has been new territory for me, and I've just really enjoyed writing it (how sadistic is that?) Plus, even though Donnie's my favorite, I've always had trouble writing his character. This is the first multi chaptered fic about him that I've actually finished, so I'm just really, really glad you've had fun reading it. I hope you'll be satisfied with the ending. Thank you._

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**Chapter 9**

I felt nauseous. I really wanted to bend over and throw up over my own two feet. It seemed like the better option, where I was forced to walk with my intestines entangled up in one another. The blackened sewer tunnels seemed to breathe with a stench of excrement, moist and... entrapment. I could not imagine living down here would ever numb you to the stench, because it hit you like a ton of bricks in the face – over and over again, each hit no less powerful than the previous. But it wasn't the smell that wrenched my gut like a washcloth.

It was the fear.

The darkness allowed me to see nothing but the torturous nightmares my mind played out in front of me. No matter what, I couldn't seem to shake the image of that... that _creature_ attacking Joey, stabbing madly at his groin and legs as if he'd been possessed by the Devil himself. Joey's screams sounded like something that would come from inside a torture chamber; I could almost pin point his pain like a doctor would on an x-ray photo, just by listening to his screams.

We hadn't really been that close, him and I. To be honest, I barely even knew him. It had only been my second time working with him, and even though we'd talked quite often online, I wouldn't miss him. Certainly, it was a horrible way for anyone to die, but what truly haunted me about it was the thought that it could have been me. A quiet, persistent voice in the back of my mind kept bothering me about it, whispering,

'You could be next, you know.'

I had seen death in its cruelest, most agonizing form – and while beautiful as nothing else could be - I was absolutely terrified of it. Never before had there been such risks with our projects. I'd been scared before, yeah; scared of messing up, scared of getting caught... scared of the consequences. However this time I was scared of the project itself. These things... they new how to defend themselves, they knew how to fight back and they knew how skewer a body. Hell, they had pretty much mastered the art.

I didn't want to be that body. I didn't want to die down here – in the forgotten undergrounds of the city where no one would ever come looking for me, and I could tell neither did Bob. He'd been nagging about us going back from the very moment we went after them, and – unlike me – he had no trouble in showing his fear. He insisted we could make due with what we had, and just leave the last two while we still had the option to turn back.

But even though I could relate to his fear, it definitely wasn't an option.

What we had... Bob was right; it wasn't as if we didn't already have good material. The blood and action was extremely impressive, certainly beyond anything we'd ever done before, but never had we been able to catch so much _angst_ on tape. No one would question the authenticity of this movie, because raw emotions like that simply couldn't be faked. I could already imagine the others' reaction. They'd be fondling their balls in awe. _This_ would be the movie everyone would talk about; future generations referring to it like an undead legend for them to idolize and strive to outdo.

We just had to finish it. What was the point of coming down here, losing half the crew in the battle, and then turn back with "what we've got"? No. Hell no. It wasn't an option. We would find these things, and we would finish them off, documenting even the briefest utter of pain, videotape the faintest trace of tear and make our trouble worth the while.

At first, it hadn't been personal, merely something we had decided to do, but with the way things had turned out I really wanted to see those last two freaks dead. If it was the last thing I did, I was going to hunt down those fuckers and put so many bullet holes through their alien looking bodies it would be impossible for them to contain a single drop of blood.

I just couldn't understand why we hadn't found them already. They couldn't have gotten that far, not in their state. We had found blood back in the subway tunnels – lots of it, the crimson trace leading us into the sewer system where pitch-black darkness took over and cold water numbed our legs. We could only assume Jared had done some good in that crazy outburst of his and at least wounded them with his bullets.

He'd been so stupid in going after them like he had, knowing for a fact that they were armed, knowing from experience that they were dangerous. But that was Jared in a nutshell. Shoot first and think later. He'd been the bravest of the four of us, and the biggest fool I had ever come across; he'd been the one pushing this entire mess forward. Ever since he had heard that rumor of the green monsters living under the city, he'd been obsessed with going after them.

'They are the perfect kill,' he'd told us.

It had taken us a while to find them, almost a year to the date, and even though he'd truly been the biggest fool to walk this earth, he'd been damned right. After all, humanoid reptiles weren't killed on tape everyday.

It was so perfect, almost to the point where it seemed too good to be true. They were truly like something straight out of a science fiction movie, and the government would shit their pants at the discovery of them. The knowledge hidden in their bodies would be priceless to any scientist in his right mind, yet no one would even miss them when we were done with them.

So valuable and yet so easily disposable, we could calmly erase their entire existence without a single person in the city so much as flinching.

It _was_ the perfect kill.

Unexpectedly, a white light shone up our way down the tunnel, reflecting off the murky, black surface of the underground stream, and turning to Bobby next to me I quickly discovered where it came from. He had turned on the camera, using the built-in flashlight to better help guide our way.

"The hell's wrong with you?" I instantly hissed at him, causing him to look at me in brief fright. "You can't fucking waste the battery on _light_!"

"It's cool, Luke," he said nonchalantly. "Don't lose it. We've got plenty of battery to use. There's more than half of it left."

"So?" I angrily insisted. "You know how much energy that flashlight needs, now turn it off before I punch your face in. We're _not _risking this."

I caught him sighing in frustration before he finally did what I had told him and we were once again enclosed in grim, threatening darkness; feeding my fear to the point where walking straight became a struggle.

I grabbed a firmer hold of the heavy machine gun in my hands, the cold metal filling me with comfort and hope, knowing that if these bullets had killed the likes of them before, they could do it again – _would_ do it again. Even if they came jumping at me from out of nowhere, all I had to do was press the trigger and aim.

The task was far too simple to mess up. How on earth Joey had managed to fail was a mystery to me. If a giant, furious and not to mention buff turtle comes running at you with weapons clutched in both hands, you shoot it. It's a matter of instinct.

Point and shoot.

"You know," Bob's hesitant voice cut through the silence like a jagged knife. "Maybe they ain't here. We've been walking for hours, Luke, and still no sign of them."

I only locked my jaw, figuring my silence would let him know just how I felt about his reasoning.

"Maybe they've gone topside," he offered. "Maybe they've... I dunno. Maybe they're already lyin' dead someplace."

"If they are," I calmly said, staring straight ahead of me as I walked, heavy feet trying to force their way forward through the cold water, "we'll find them."

"Maybe we _can't_ find them," Bobby countered. "Ma... maybe we've already passed them."

"Hey," I finally blew up, turning to look at him in the darkness, trying to make out the holes in his mask, knowing his eyes were to be found there. "If you're scared, then just leave. Because I'm fucking tired of listening to you complain."

"No, I'm just saying..."

"I'm not going back, Bobby. I don't care what you say, I'm not going back till I've got them both dead on tape, okay?"

He stared at me in silence, and as the seconds passed, one by one, I realized he wasn't about to give me an answer.

"Just leave," I repeated. "I'm not stopping you, but I'm not coming with you."

"Yeah, sure. And just how are you supposed to manage the camera while having to carry around that thing?" he said, grabbing at my weapon as if to get his point across.

"Look," I said, pulling the weapon out of his grasp in irritation and backing a firm step away from him. "Either you're with me one hundred percent – no more fucking talk about going back – or you leave _right_ now. It's up to you."

I was as good as dead going at this alone, and we both knew that.

There was no way I could shoot and hold the camera all by myself, and, to be honest, I wanted someone to cover me. Were they anything like bears when they'd been injured, I wouldn't want to face them by myself.

I really wanted him to come with me – I was banking on it. But... even if he wouldn't, I wasn't about to turn back.

Staring at each other in silence, the many pipes rustling eerily around us, it was all decided when Bob finally turned to face straight ahead and continued down the tunnel. Quietly, I let out a nervous, shaky breath I'd been holding.

Bob had seen enough; he wanted out of here. He wanted this movie to look as perfect as I did, but he wouldn't willingly risk his life to get there. Nevertheless he chose to stay by my side, camera still clutched in his hand.

Unlike the others, I knew I could trust him. He went beyond the average online relationship I had with everyone else. We'd gone to high school together, I'd practically lived at his place back when his mom was hospitalized for that tumor in her breast, and he'd been the one to videotape my first kill, unprofessional as it had been.

Yeah, I trusted Bobby. He was the closest thing I'd ever had to a best friend, and I knew he wouldn't leave me to suffer the same fate the others had. I quickly hurried after him, taking only mere seconds for me to catch up with him and once again walk alongside of him in the darkness.

The humidity down here uncomfortably stuck the knitted fabric of my ski mask to my face. I briefly considered taking it off; the camera wasn't even on at the moment, but I didn't want to risk not remembering to put it back on when we started shooting again. I had way too much to protect behind this mask, so I was just going to have to deal with bathing in my sweat.

Cautiously eyeing the walls around me, almost expecting one of those things to materialize in the darkness, I instinctively held the gun closer to my chest. I hated not knowing what to expect; unlike Jared it didn't thrill me in the least. I wanted to know what we were up against - down to the very last detail – so I could eliminate it as fast as possible.

Coming down that ladder had been completely different.

We'd already looked up the location, and even though we weren't particularly clear on just what those green monsters were, there were four of us taking them on, armed and protected behind bulletproof vests. The odds were on our side, while now I felt like an unprepared diver swimming in the great blue, armed with nothing but a single harpoon. I knew perfectly well there were two hungry sharks swimming nearby, yet I had no idea from which direction they would attack, or even when.

As I studied my surroundings in fright, I noticed how the brickwork seemed to cease further up ahead, the soft gleaming of water on the walls suddenly gone. I fastened my hold on the gun and picked up my pace.

"I think the tunnel's dividing," I casually told Bob, not even bothering to look at him as I spoke. "There could be one just like it on our right."

"What?" he asked, his voice filled with confusion. "You mean they could have gone down that one instead?"

"No, I mean..." I sighed in frustration, lowering my voice to a mere whisper as I spoke. "I dunno, maybe. Just keep your eyes open. I _don't _like surprises."

"That makes two of us," he whispered briefly, mimicking the careful volume of my voice, before the two of us were once again walking in silence.

I tried not to splash as much in the stream, not wanting to attract any attention, but it seemed some things just weren't mine to control. Were they waiting for us by the other side of that wall, they certainly knew we were coming.

Nearing the corner of the wall, my heartbeat quickened, while my breathing just stopped altogether. The sound of my own pulse was drumming like a chant in my head, and I couldn't seem to focus on anything but constantly making sure the weapon was still there in my sweaty hands.

When we finally reached the end of the wall, I instinctively held out my left arm to stop Bobby from walking any further. I caught him looking at me in the darkness, but I didn't pay him any attention. Gripping the gun tighter in my hands, I tried to relax by letting out a slow breath, until I finally stepped around the wall, weapon raised and ready to fire.

But I couldn't see a thing. It was so dark, and there were no sounds rising above the constant humming coming from the many pipes around us.

"I know you're there."

My racing heart suddenly stopped, and, adjusting the gun in my hands, I pointed it in every direction I could think of. Shit, I couldn't see _any_thing! I would have followed the sound of his voice, but even at the low volume, it bounced off the concave surface off the walls, making it sound like it was coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. I might have even considered the possibility that it came from my head, hadn't he spoken a second time.

"You can't have him."

"Show yourself!" I yelled, hoping my fear would come across as aggression instead.

"...You can't see me," he quietly stated, sounding surprised and pleased at the same time.

"The hell I can," I grumbled in annoyance, turning around to Bobby behind me, slapping at his arm. "Turn on the camera, will ya!"

He nervously fumbled with the object in his arms, before the red button finally shone bright, and the built-in flashlight lit up a faint path down the tunnel.

There, about twenty feet away from us, I finally caught the sight of him – of _them_. One of them sat with his shell against the wall, protected by the cold water on some sort of sidewalk that didn't exist in the tunnel we'd traveled through. He was squinting his eyes at the flashlight, yet I could tell he still held his stare locked at me, almost obsessively. In his arms, motionless, was the other one, collapsed against his chest with his limp head resting on one of his shoulders.

He was dead; he had to be, either that or unconscious. It made sense. Running through these tunnels with the kind of wounds we'd assumed they had, it was the only realistic outcome.

Raising my gun, making sure I was pointing it at him the whole time, I started walking up to him, cautiously. I heard Bob's splashing footsteps following behind me, the light coming from the camera keeping my path visible. As I walked, the thing kept his gaze locked at me, yet he didn't say a word, causing this eerie feeling to blossom in my gut.

Why didn't he run? Wouldn't he attempt to defend himself? Because that was not defeat I saw in his eyes. Sorrow, yes. Exhaustion? Most definitely. But _not_ defeat.

Stopping when I was standing five feet away from them, a distance I felt was necessary to keep, considering the characteristics the other two had shown, I stared down at the scene in amazement.

This was too fucking good. I couldn't believe we were actually getting the whole thing on tape.

The freak in his arms indeed proved to be dead, almost as pale as mine, except his skin had a sickly green tone, and his black, dry blood covered the booth of them. He'd fucking died in his arms, and, looking at the face of the remaining freak, he sure seemed to have cried an awful lot about it.

His cheeks practically glistened in the light.

"I expected to find the both of you, but I guess we came too late, huh?" I said with a knowing grin, meeting his silent stare, trying to read his emotions. But his gaze remained the same, and he never spoke a word.

"Aren'tcha gonna say anything?" I finally asked, relaxing my stance a bit, waiting for an answer that didn't seem to come. "We're only just meeting for the first time, you know, you and I. Don't you have anything you wanna say?"

"What possibly could there be left to say?" he finally replied, his voice low and dull... hoarse.

Must have been because of the crying.

"I dunno... Your last words?" I couldn't help but laugh, and glancing at Bobby to my left I caught him smiling. Looking back at the subject, I couldn't help but notice he didn't seem to share in out little joke. "What's the matter? Didn't think it was funny?"

His expression remained the same, but this time he actually parted his lips to speak. "What did you do to my brother?"

"You brother?" I repeated. The thought of them being related hadn't occur to me, even though they looked so much alike. For all I cared, they could have been clones... but _brothers_? The again, it did make sense, how they seemed to care about one another so much. But who would have thought? A family of what appeared to be four giant turtles, plus that hairy thing we first saw when entering. Now _that_ one we hadn't been prepared for. Four green monsters? Yes, that proved to be very true, but there had been nothing about a rodent in a robe, which was why I shot him the second I saw him. Like I mentioned earlier, I didn't like surprises.

Jared scolded me for killing it on the spot, but it wasn't anything I couldn't take.

"You were... I know you had him in there with you," he then spoke again, interrupting my thoughts, his breathing getting dragged behind. "What did you do to him?" His entire speech was slurred, almost sounding as if he had trouble staying awake.

I couldn't help but smile at the way he desperately seemed to cling to the thought that he was still alive. "Well, he's not here with us, is he?"

He blinked once, slowly, but quickly returned to stare at me with those abnormally huge eyes of his. "What did you do to him?"

I adjusted the gun in my hands, feeling much more comfortable now that I knew that the odds were back on our side. "There's no need to feel left out. You're not dead yet, there's still plenty of stuff we can do to ya."

I caught Bob chuckling beside me, and I couldn't help but feel proud, because I knew that if he'd appreciated my comment, the audience sure as hell would.

"Why are you doing this?" he then asked, lazily, surprising me yet again with the calm in his voice. "Who are you?"

I preferred panic and anger; any kind of extreme emotion looked better on camera. But I supposed there was always time for that later.

"I don't see how that's any of your business," I answered him nonchalantly. "All you need to know is that you'll be starring in the final scene."

"It's some kind of a snuff movie, isn't it?" he stated, his calm once again pissing me off.

I didn't bother to answer, but just smiled at him, wanting to get on with things while we still had battery left. I would hate for the flashlight to suck that thing dry and leave us with nothing to record the big finish. Wouldn't that be irony at its cruelest, most sadistic behavior?

Noticing his tight hold of the corpse in his arms, I turned to face Bob, motioning with my head at the body. He instantly understood my silent order and stepped forward to push the corpse aside, only for the turtle to kick him the second he put his hand on the sapless creature.

"Don't touch him!"

Bobby staggered backwards at the surprisingly powerful impact, and landed on his ass in the cold water, thankfully managing to keep the camera above the surface.

I stared at the scene in shock until I finally regained my ability to act. Pointing the weapon at his face, my index finger curled around the trigger, I stared threateningly into his eyes. "Just what the hell do ya think you're doing?" I swiftly glanced at Bob as he struggled to get out of the water, finally rising to his feet.

"Don't. Touch him," he repeated with a menacing voice, and as the light from the camera returned to his face, I noticed his gaze seemed to completely lack the fear I was hoping to bring out.

"In case you haven't noticed, _we're_ the ones setting the rules around here, and I say you shut the fuck up and do as we tell ya!"

"I don't care what you do to me," he said, struggling to sit up straight from having slid down when kicking Bob, wincing in pain when pushing himself up with his arms. I noticed then for the first time that the blood covering the front of his shell didn't all belong to the dead guy.

There was a large bullet wound right beneath his left shoulder blade, and, unlike the bandages that were tied around the other one's arm and leg, it was left to bleed freely. To say the least, it wasn't looking so good.

Smiling, I let go of my weapon with my right hand and stepped forward, pressing my finger into the juicy hole of his shoulder, his screams of agony ringing in my ears.

"You don't care?" I repeated, twisting my finger in the wound, only increasing his screaming and causing his entire body to cramp at the immense pain. "Is _this_ the sound of someone who doesn't care!"

Finally pulling out my finger, I grabbed a firm hold of the gun with both hands and slammed the solid back of it into his chin, causing the right side of his face to smash into the brick wall with a bone-crushing thud.

"Stupid fuck," I muttered to myself, having to restrain myself from shooting him on the spot. Attitude was the worst thing I knew; crying and begging was my forte.

Slowly turning back to face me, I saw blood on his bottom lip, most likely coming from inside his mouth. I figured either he'd bit his tongue or some of his teeth had taken the worst hit. And _still_ he had that nonchalant look in his eyes!

"What the hell is your problem!" I furiously yelled at him. "Don't you get it? We've killed your entire family, _tortured _them. And you are no fucking exception!"

"I know," he only said, leaning the back of his head against the wall, keeping his eyes locked with mine.

"Then why the hell are ya looking so damned pleased with yourself! You're going to die, and it'll be _real_ slow so you don't miss any of it."

Still holding eye contact, he started fumbling with his left hand behind his brother's body, causing the dead creature's head to fall back over the arm that still held him.

"What now?" I hissed impatiently. "You've got an itch?"

Still looking at me with a insouciant gaze, he didn't say anything, but just kept on jerking with his arm, his other arm beginning to shake at the weight of having to hold the dead body.

Finally, he gently lay down his brother's sapless form, the turtle lying on his back across his outstretched legs, and then he added his left arm to whatever it was he was doing in the darkness. If he had a knife or something there, it wasn't exactly a big deal where he barely seemed capable of keeping his eyes open, but I would sure like to know it, if that was the case.

I nudged Bobby with my left elbow, causing him to turn to me in surprise.

"Get that, will ya?" I told him.

The light was instantly focused on his now still hands, both of them lying on top of the corpse's torso, one of them facing down, clutching something.

Before I even had the chance to tell him to show us what it was, he turned his palm upwards, holding something dark and bulging, the size of a fist. I couldn't quite see what it was, but by the time my eyes had registered the object it was already too late, and I froze up in fear - utterly paralyzed.

How the fuck did he get his hands on another one of our hand grenades?

**---**

**End **


End file.
